For no apparent reason I find myself remembering a quote by, at least this is who I think it's by, Stephen Pound — the Labour Member of Parliament for Ealing North — in which the phrase trouser the loot was used (it was used in regards to the allowance that MP's get for central London housing, and how an unscrupulous fellow could turn it into profit). I'm in love with trouser the loot, as should everyone be.
Christmas this year for me is probably best summed up with the word dull, although cold and fucking cold are probably also appropriate. In fact, it was almost Minnesota cold when I woke up on Christmas morning. Father Christmas brought me (well actually the postman brought them to me, from my mother) a book (Going Postal, by the unadjectivable Terry Pratchett) and a couple of t-shirts. The highlight of my day was probably making bread pudding, albeit without the cloves. All the shops in Columbus were closed on Christmas day and I had to go to a convenience store to get the cheap white bread and milk I needed for the recipe. I ended up eating a baked chicken breast with a selection of vegetables, thanks to the freezer gods. All in all it wasn't a bad day.
In other news I got my Blunkett t-shirt today, and proudly wore it in Columbus. I can't imagine that many, if any, people who saw it got the tasteless joke. I also bought myself a kitchen table (even if it is more of a card table really, it's in my kitchen now so by default it's a kitchen table) and a couple of chairs. Praise be to Target, for cheap shitty furniture.
After only six hours sleep in the last two nights combined, I am really knackered. (Hopefully) I'm going to sleep now.
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