Earlier today I really offended a duck.
I think I also pissed off a heron.
Remember, guys, when you feed the birds (in my case, next to Richmond Bridge on a Sunday afternoon), don’t throw your bird seed at them so hard that it hits them on the beak and causes to them to swim away, quacking in disgust.
And make sure you don’t feed a heron food it doesn’t want to eat: they like fish, not sunflower seeds. Man, those birds sure know how to give you the evil eye!
I’m about to hit another deadline (although deadlines always feel as though they hit me, usually with a brick). Until then, I’m enjoying myself this evening with a pile of Lost episodes – including the season two finale – and I may rewatch a couple of episodes of Supernatural for good measure. The first season finale of that show is on TV tonight and it’s a doozy. I may watch it again. Not that I’m obsessed with it right now, no sirree, not me! You must have me mixed up with that girl who got the actors’ autographs the other day and still hasn’t stopped going, “Squeeee!”
(And because I really can’t stop talking about Supernatural, anyone who’s watched the series will know that the only way you can stop a ghost or a demon entering your house is to sprinkle salt around all the doors and windows to keep it out. Rock salt is preferable. I found a packet of rock salt in my kitchen cupboard the other night and called Biddy to giggle about it – yes, I’m easily amused. She pointed out that I could now line all my doors and windows with it as a precautionary measure.
“Oh, except for my kitchen skylight,” I replied, continuing the joke. “There’s no way to pour salt around that.”
“In that case, you can sprinkle salt by your kitchen door instead, so they’ll be trapped in your kitchen,” Biddy observed, helpfully. “Although that does mean that if demons ever invade your house, you won’t be able to make a cup of tea.”
Man, I love the way her brain works.)
I haven’t really got much to write about right now, unless you give a toss about me going to a French fair in Barnes last Sunday (it smelt of cheese) or the fact that I’ve seen two films this week, neither of which I can review here for embargo reasons. For the record, one was Adrift (think Open Water: idiots jump off yacht in the middle of the sea for a swim, then realise they can’t get back on board… ouch) and the other was Jack Black’s latest, a Mexican wrestling movie named Nacho Libre. I saw that one on Monday morning with my Deputy Editor and boy, what a great start to the week! Beats being at my desk, anyday.
Oh, and I also owe a public apology to Gillen for ruining the big surprise in issue two of Civil War. It’s not every day Spider-Man’s in the news and I really thought you’d already heard. Sorry again, mate…
Something major DID happen this week, though. Something rather amazing concerning a children’s author named Victoria Walker, two books that have been out of print for 30 years and a very nice man called Neil Gaiman… but it’s all too long to detail here. If you’re feeling curious, he mentioned it in his blog entry for 15 June. Go here to check it out: http://www.neilgaiman.com/journal/
I was rather happy about it all. I will be writing more when I can get my head around the whole thing. At the moment I just feel as though someone’s taken my karma and sprinkled it with gold dust.
To sum up: you know the bit in The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy when the miserable android, Marvin, glumly says, “Life? Don’t talk to me about life.”
Well, my life at the moment is the exact reverse of that. Life? I bloody love it!
Even if there is a duck out there holding a grudge against me.