Tags: weather


Why am I up at 8:30 on a Sunday?

I was awoken
By a single thunderclap
And a cuddly cat

At... one moment, let me check by delicate scientific equipment... STUPID o'clock this morning there was a single, deafening clap of thunder and the skies dumped what sounded like a huge bucket of rain on the ground all at once.  It didn't last long but the thunderclap was deafening and the cat, usually blase to such things, jumped onto the bed in terror and insisted on cuddling.  Since then I haven't been able to get back to sleep properly, though I had some strange dreams about rain.  The cat was content to cuddle at my feet (converting his weight to six tons in the process) until - and this is the really unusual part - I woke up before him.

I was tempted, momentarily, by the thought of revenge.  To claw at him, to knock his toys loudly onto the ground, to meow like a klaxon into his ear or to try and mate with his head (all tactics he uses to wake me up at 6am or earlier) but in the end they seemed like too much effort. Full of cheap catfood and drunk on catnip he has now lurched out into the morning light to terrorise birds, small mammals and female cats with equal measure, sort of like a furry, and cuter, Oliver Reed.

Leaving me, awake but tired.

Bloody weather.
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Fucked up


It's horrible.
Much more humid out here than London sounds, probably due to the river and being right in a valley, also the vegetation.

I need mostly naked (and bejewelled) slave girls fanning me with ostrich feathers, then this would be tolerable!

In other news...
Working from home means I can stay cool by being nakey! Bonus!

Now that I've warped your fragile little minds, back to work :)
just me


Sunshine and me do not go together, but pootling around the Farmer's Market in Andover, playing the gourmand and tasting all the wonderful local produce was very enjoyable, despite the heat.

Mmm, venison sausages for tea.


People who've known me a while know I don't like the summer.
It's too hot, too humid, the sun burns like napalm and it's rays gleaming off my pasty white flesh have been known to spontaneously lase and burn out people's retinas.

In short, I don't like summer.

However, we have a new summer phenomena that should be discussed.

My usual rant encompasses the expanses of potato flesh on immediate display the moment Britain gets a femtosecond of sun and the horrors of middle aged hairy men mowing the lawn in shorts and sandals - and nothing more - but we have a new hideousness.

Normally one of the compensations of the hot weather is the occasional fetching young lady to ogle amongst the hordes of blobs, but the fashion trend at the moment seems to be for jeans that ride down on the hip and crush it it, removing the one decently ogleable feature of a young lady without being noticed - her behind - from view by eliminating curves.

Now imagine a blob wearing the same outfit.  It doesn't eliminate their hips but rather, as with corsetry - the lard doesn't vanish, it just MOVES.  In the case of these jeans it flops over the top of the waistband and it bulges out into the leg below the waistband.  Being able to see a girl's underpants also loses some of its allure when they're dark with sweat and riding up in the bumcrack and that peeking tattoo you have also loses any appeal it might have had with rivers of toxic, lardy sweat running down your back to vanish into that dark and terrible thong-infested territory.

Almost makes you WANT everyone to turn muslim some days.


Look out of your windows and observe as I unleash the power of my orbital freeze-ray upon the clouds over the south of England.

Soon a mere centimetre or so of snow will cripple your transport links, prevent you attending work or school and render you isolated and vulnerable!

Unless the sum of £5,000,0000 (Less than a lottery win, reasonable I'm sure you agree) is delivered to me within 24 hours I shall increase the power and subject you to the full fury of winter's icy might!

Think well... for you hold the amount of your heating bill in your hands.