aquarion: (Default)
My copy of Good Omens is slightly foxed.

It was bought in 1995 because I didn't own it and wanted to.

Some pages are stained with orange juice from reading it at breakfast before school.

For a long time it wouldn't fold shut properly because I took it to a beach and it got sand in it.

This was solved when I dropped it in the bath, having dislocated the shoulder of the arm that was holding it.

The spine has been reinforced with thick tape using a proper book binding fixing thingy, from back when I was Librarianing at school.

The back cover is only half there because it failed to entirely survive a house move.

I reread it regularly, I only actually read one sentence in four, as the rest of them can be reassembled in my head from memory. I cannot quite quote the entire book. Anymore.

The first ten to twenty pages are my standard vocal exercise for getting my reading aloud voice back.

It is probably my favourite book.

I live in fear that someone will make a film of it.

(Someone apart from me)

Because it won't be the film that runs in my head when I'm reading it.

Good Omens makes me happy.
aquarion: (love)
I'm on the train, barreling through the fields and grassland commons you never expect in London. Trees and houses, buildings painted with adverts for soap that hasn't been sold for fifty years, streets and passages, people, pubs and parks, tiny shops that have been selling nothing but umbrellas since before my great great grandfather was born, massive superstores that will sell you coffee shat out of cats, tunnels and tube trains, canals and crazies.

London makes me happy
aquarion: (Default)
Depths of deep brown liquid, slowly warming in a glass, smokey, chocolaty, roasted and deep.

Porters make me happy. Also drunk.

In other news: I have my P45, funds to last me though January, and no job to go to then. February's rent is going to be fun unless something changes soon. All my possible jobs have people on holiday, possibly over Christmas now.

Jobseeking makes me unhappy.
aquarion: (Default)
This morning, I heard on the radio that a nearby town hadn't been heard from recently, and so went to investigate. Along the way I met a small boy who told me he used to live in that town, but hadn't heard from his dad recently and would I take a look? In return he gave me a key to an ammo dump in the town, which I raided for supplies.

Turns out the entire town had been infested with fire ants. And not your normal pre-war fire ants, neither. We're talking three feet high mutant ants with actual flamethrowers here. Bit of investigation led me to the info that if I aim for the antenna, they would get so confused they'd stop. This made shooting them without getting broiled. Found the kid's father - dead - and so I'm trooping off to the metro station where the kid says the nest is. With me are my friends the 'scoped Magnum .44 and laser pistol, and on my back - in case it's needed - a small nuclear bomb and associated launcher.

Time for some pesticide.


Fallout 3 makes me happy.
aquarion: (Default)
I'm good at this regular posting thing.

Friday we went to the Pembury for Tamara's birthday party, which was fun.

Saturday we went to Cambridge for dinner with friends, which was both tasty and fun.

Sunday we returned in time to get to the Pub, where we played Stoner Fluxx, which was fun.

Today I accidentally told Fyr I had Peggle, so today has been catching up on interwebs while she plays that. Tactical error on my part there.

Busy weekends, filled with friends both old and new, make me happy.
aquarion: (detail chibified)
I have been tagged in a meme to post daily of eight things that make me happy. This is todays:

This morning, I stepped out into a bright, crisp winters morning, looked at my pocket-watch to discover that I was in plenty of time for work, and took the more scenic route. As Far Away played on my iPod, I strode though the fields behind my house, over frosted grass, my trenchcoat flapping around me, and my scarf keeping me warm.

This made me happy.

Profile

aquarion: (Default)
aquarion

May 2012

S M T W T F S
  12345
6789101112
13 141516171819
20212223242526
2728293031  

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 22nd, 2017 04:25 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios