I read a book, me

Two actually. Amazing. Doubly so.
Gianluca Vialli's The Italian Job, and Anthony H Wilson's 24 Hour Party People. Both strongly recommended.
If you like that sort of thing. Which obviously I do.
Meanwhile I am stuck in work hotel mode, with the hours dropping away from my life and into the toilet bowl of low grade despair. Twill be good to go home again. I mean clean sheets, expense account meals, free tv (and 30 channels, and least 1o in English...). Oh, how dull.

Nose back to the grindstone...
PS also fitted in the Serenity Directors commentary, and commentary on the extras. Great.
I appear to be in gushing mode. I should probably read more.

Space - the final sofa

So, we now have 3 new planets in the solar system. Which I find rather exciting.
With all that space, why can't we get the new sofa in the living room?

One for one

The Community Shield may not be the most important trophy of the year, but it is the first one and it belongs to the mighty Reds. Again. And more importantly we outplayed Chelski.
Though it still feels like the summer, and far too early to be thinking about football.

That said the breadcrumbs spent the week learning to ski. Which they can now do better than me - though I have only tried for 45 minutes. Oh, the humiliation. I think I better get used to being worse than them at things.

Lost

The breadcrumbs and Mrs Breadwinner are (separately) away just now.
Absence makes the heart grow... lost. My compass and timetable are gone. There is no routine, no company and a big old house. And of course too much work.
But luckily, the postman came before 7am so there was no danger of a lie in. I mean what would happen if people could sleep for more than 6 hours? Worlds would crumble etc.

Supernatural - quite derivative, but very good. Bit scary though. More Please.

Talking of scary, obviously Russell T Davies had the same frightening experience with Cybermen that I did. Probably the same episode. Would explain why they are so keen on ripping through plastic sheeting. So here is a picture that is deeply unsettling for me, and rather kitsch for anyone younger than me.

"Elvis didn't mean shit to me" - Chuck D. And neither did Syd Barrett to be honest.

Pablo Picasso

was never called an asshole.

Hola! (you see what I did there). Spanish is ... going. More lessons last night. I think that like Homer Simpson, I'm going to have to let some information out of my brain before I let anymore Spanish in. I was hoping to lose German, but it appears that instead I have lost "people I knew 1987 to 97".

I don't think I was keeping in touch anyhow.

Nothing can stop us now

As Saint Etienne sang.

Rain, rain, rain. People have already forgotten how hot it was last week. I on the other hand feel that I might be part rain god. As I traverse the M62 I bring the gift of rain wherever I go.
As someone said yesterday "welcome to a Manchester summer".

Antony H Wilson on the radio today reminding everyone that Manchester is indeed the centre of the Universe - as I was also told yesterday.

Maybe. Maybe not.