
Stormy skies

Stormy skies
1. Never give me work in the morning. Always wait until 4:00 and then
bring it to me. The challenge of a deadline is refreshing.
2. If it's really a rush job, run in and interrupt me every 10 minutes
to inquire how it's going. That helps. Even better, hover behind me,
and advise me at every keystroke.
3. Always leave without telling anyone where you're going. It gives me
a chance to be creative when someone asks where you are.
4. If my arms are full of papers, boxes, books, or supplies, don't
open the door for me. I need to learn how to function as a paraplegic
and opening doors with no arms is good training in case I should ever
be injured and lose all use of my limbs.
5. If you give me more than one job to do, don't tell me which is
priority. I am psychic.
6. Do your best to keep me late. I adore this office and really have
nowhere to go or anything to do. I have no life beyond work.
7. If a job I do pleases you, keep it a secret. If that gets out, it
could mean a promotion.
8. If you don't like my work, tell everyone. I like my name to be
popular in conversations. I was born to be whipped.
9. If you have special instructions for a job, don't write them down.
In fact, save them until the job is almost done. No use confusing me
with useful information.
10. Never introduce me to the people you're with. I have no right to
know anything. In the corporate food chain, I am plankton. When you
refer to them later, my shrewd deductions will identify them.
11. Be nice to me only when the job I'm doing for you could really
change your life and send you straight to manager's hell

"One in five men in their early 20s in England has the sexually transmitted infection chlamydia, figures suggest".








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.... You're From London When... |
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You say "the city" and expect everyone to know which one. You have never been to The Tower or Madame Tussauds but love Brighton. You can get into a four-hour argument about how to get from Shepherds Bush to Elephant & Castle at 3:30 on the Friday before a long weekend, but can't find Dorset on a map. Hookers and the homeless are invisible. You step over people who collapse on the tube. You believe that being able to swear at people in their own language makes you multi-lingual. You've considered stabbing someone. Your door has more than three locks. Your favourite movie has Hugh Grant in it. You consider eye contact an act of overt aggression. You call an 8' x 10' plot of patchy grass a garden. You know where Karl Marx is buried. You consider Essex the "countryside" You think Hyde Park is "nature." You're paying £1,200 a month for a studio the size of a walk-in wardrobe and you think it's a "bargain." Shopping in suburban supermarkets and shopping malls gives you a severe attack of agoraphobia. You've been to Tooting twice and got hopelessly lost both times. You pay more each month to park your car than most people in the UK pay in rent. You haven't seen more than twelve stars in the night sky since you went camping as a kid. You own hiking boots and a 4WD vehicle, neither of which have ever touched dirt. You haven't heard the sound of true absolute silence since 1977, and when you did, it terrified you. You pay £3 without blinking for a beer that cost the bar 28p. You actually take fashion seriously. Being truly alone makes you nervous. You have 27 different menus next to your telephone. The UK west of Heathrow is still theoretical to you. You're suspicious of strangers who are actually nice to you. You haven't cooked a meal since helping mum last Christmas with the turkey. Your idea of personal space is no one actually standing on your toes. £50 worth of groceries fit in one paper bag. You have a minimum of five "worst cab ride ever" stories. You don't hear sirens anymore. You've mentally blocked out all thoughts of the city's air quality and what it's doing to your lungs. You live in a building with a larger population than most towns. Your cleaner is Russian, your grocer is Korean, your deli man is Israeli, your landlord is Italian, your laundry guy is Chinese, your favourite bartender is Irish, your favourite diner owner is Greek, the watch-seller on your corner is Senegalese, your last cabbie was Pakistani, your newsagent is Indian and your favourite falafel guy is Egyptian. You wouldn't want to live anywhere else until you get married. You say 'mate' constantly You think anyone not from London is a 'wanker' You think anyone from outside London and north of the Watford Gap is a 'Northern Wanker' You have no idea where the North is. You see All Saints in the Met Bar (again) and find it hard to get excited about it. The countryside makes you nervous Somebody speaks to you on the tube and you freak out thinking they are a stalker. You talk in postcodes. "God, it was really warm round SW1 the other day" You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends from London. |

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You Know You're Addicted to your Blog When... |
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If you can't access the site, you have a minor freak out - and a major case of hitting reload. You found yourself composing journal entries during dates, movies, even sex! When you're out, you suddenly think of a witty reply to a comment somebody made to you... several days ago. You've downloaded some sort of blog program which has only the purpose of making entries easier to write without going on the site manually. You consider it a great offence if someone deletes you off their friend's list. The first thing you do every day when you go online is check your friends blogs - even before checking your email. You actually paid money for a few extra pictures with a full account when you could actually just alternate pics when you want to for your screen icons. When your friends ask what's new, you get mad at them because you already wrote it in your blog and they didn't check it yet. You have put more time into your blog than all your assignments for the semester. You have more friends in the blogosphere than in real life. You've met at least 50% of your Blogger friends. You can't seem to call your friends by their real names - only blog names will do. You've fallen in love with someone you met on blogger. You have posted about a party or get together on your blog... and random strangers showed up. You are guilty of traveling more than an hour to meet someone with Blogger. (Extra points for traveling five hours or more) You've written a protected entry about one of your blog friends. (Extra points if they eventually found out about it) You have written posts to notify people you're going to sleep. You talk about your blog friends to your real life friends all the time... like they're a part of your group. You've created a blog community, and people actually post in it. You've been recognized in real life by a fellow blogger'er. You have friended someone because of their blog icon. You have "pity friends" on your list, who you would defriend if you could. You've pimped one of your friends on journal, trying to get people to friend him / her. Instead of doing research, you post difficult questions on your blog. Your pets all have their own blogs. You know, right now, how many people have friended you (without peeking). You've stopped being friends with someone in real life because of something they've said on your blog. You're guilty of posting sexy or nude pictures to get more people to friend you. You have consoled yourself after a horrible day thinking "At least this will make a great blog post" You're jealous of people who have more friends and / or comments than you. You have written a really great, solid post - only to be disappointed by the lack of good comments. You're guilty of commenting excessively to get more traffic to your journal. You've deleted a post a few minutes (or hours) after you've written it, because it seemed lame in retro spect. You have an additional, secret journal that hardly anyone knows about. You've broken up with someone - or ended a friendship - soley via Blogger. You have gotten mean anonymous comments (bonus points for figuring out who it was via their IP) You've been reported (or reported someone) to Blogger Abuse. You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends who are blog addicts. |

"My long-term aim is to make the world's top 10"
Andrew Murray.
gemma is the #1711 most common female name.
0.003% of females in the US are named gemma.
Around 3825 US females are named gemma!
source namestatistics.com
....and my real name is #77!.....how common :o)

Why I love ...... my cat.
There are the obvious reasons of course: the delicate marmalade-coloured fur on his feet and belly, the utter reliability of his cupboard love, the joy he gave me once when he caused my mild wife to say "Get down you buggering little sod" as he trotted across the fish lasagne she had just prepared.
But the main reason is his endearing stupidity. Some cats are clever, and one owner I know claims that her favourite has not only worked out how to open the fridge to get at her food, but has also declined to teach this trick to the other cats in the house.
However, my cat is stupid. He exhibits this best in the rain. He pushes his way through the catflap at the back of the house, gets his nose wet, and returns immediately. But now his eyes plead with me to open the front door - on the grounds that, although it is raining out the back, it may be dry at the front.
What is especially attractive about this is that there is no development. Almost without exception, children become more intelligent, almost day by day, and if you watch them, you can see this happen. I have even noticed myself becoming cleverer, and now, at the age of nearly 60, I have almost thrown off adolescent habits of moral certainty and political priggishness.
But my cat never learns. He insists on sitting on the mat where the door might slam on him, and on challenging the same old bruiser of a female four doors down, who duffs him up every time, leaving him cut and scabby.
I admire this determination not to develop, and reflect how simple it makes his life. Those of us who try to do a little better every day, and who break our hearts in failing, could learn a lot from him.







The sometimes intermittent account of one woman’s bumbling and somewhat unorthodox life….where things often go spectacularly awry and where the heart rules the head.
Here you will find honesty, stupidity, miscellaneous codswallop and a life lived in a manner it was never planned to be.... but lived!
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