I always thought Donald Sutherland was British. But he’s actually from Canada. Which is where Kitty is right now. She absconded, leaving me in a state of high confusion. And now there are deadlines looming and I am being asked questions that I don’t understand, let alone know the answer to.
My head is full of Real Gone and I am totally smitten but going quietly insane at the same time. The repeating songs aching in my brain are alternating between Don’t Go into that Barn, Sins of the Father, Hoist the Rag. It is wearing me out. Feels like drug addiction.
L called me last night, full of excitement that he has taken out a lease on an apartment in Barcelona. He furnished it with the help of Ikea and was in hysterics to hear exactly the same conversations take place there as you can hear in Croydon or Brent Cross.
Her: “Waou – this is ONLY ten euros….”
Him: “We’ve already got one of those”
Her: “Ten euros – you can’t go wrong for ten euros… isn’t it lovely?”
Him: “But we don’t need one”
Her: “TEN EUROS”
Him: [gives her a weary look]
Her: “Well I want it. I am going to get it. It is only 10 euros, for fuck’s sake!”
We watched the Cold Mountain DVD after M fixed some inexplicable technostrikes which, bizarrely, hit the computer, the Sky box and my phone. The film made me cry, big time, but it also irritated me rather because some of the accents were all over the place. Mind you, we both got teary just watching the trailer for Seabiscuit and promised each other that no one else would be invited to view it with us so we could weep with impunity.
Someone just explained iPods to me and now I want one.
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1 comment:
I have the Creative Nomad Zen Jukebox. The 40 GB model. It's physically a little bigger than the iPod, but I like the controls better, it's a lot cheaper, longer battery life, and those who apparently have oscilloscopes for ears tell me the sound's better, too.
For what it's worth,
-TJ
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