The Braineater Gazette & Clarion

Esteemed sibling and parent were Heroes Of The People Of The Moving Van.

( Food )

I've got so many books. The pile of boxes of books was the same size as the pile of boxes of absolutely everything else I own (mostly because I don't own much furniture, but still).
I've been buying books for oh, 15 years? And still have many that I owned before that. And get rid of them only with great reluctance. It is not a surprise, therefore, that I would have large quantities. But somehow seeing them all in a heap like that, and realising that a large part of how I will furnish the house has to be based on how much wall space is left after bookshelves are up, is a wee bit scary. My retentions policy may need rewriting. (The notion of stopping buying books, OTOH, is clearly a non-starter. Not cluttering up one's life with Stuff is an excellent idea, but books are not the Stuff. Books are the life.)

DVD player! DVDs! *croons* I have missed you so, little boxes of distraction.

...Ah. The reason I can find spoons but not knives or forks is because I don't have any k&f, isn't it? I only have spoons because I disliked the spoons that came with the shared set of cutlery at the last house. (American size table spoons [not tablespoons] are much nicer). Chopsticks food tonight, then.

Tsh, the train was very crowded this morning, for the last few stops I didn't have a table to myself! Honestly, I don't know what I pay my £50 a month for.
*Tilts head* What can that savage growling sound from the direction of London be, I wonder?

You are in a very small room. The walls are made of tottering piles of books. There are some empty boxes in the room. There is some parcel tape in the room.

PUT BOOKS IN BOXES

You have put approximately five skillion books in boxes. The walls are now made of tottering piles of boxes. There are still lots of books not in boxes.
You hear the rumble of an avalanche of clothes and random stuff from drawers that will completely destroy you.

PANIC

You are already panicking.

FRANTICALLY CARRY ON PACKING

Yeah, like that'll help, human.
You are smothered by the weight of your posessions. Your last words are "So that's where I put that whisk."
You return as a shambling undead removals monster, doomed to put things inside other things for all eternity.

Your score: Minus 14,856.
Play again.

NO, NO, NEVER.

That wasn't a question.
You are in a very small room. The walls are made of tottering piles of books...

I passed a busker this morning. He was playing La Bamba on an electric harp. (Not a lap-harp. A full size one.)

BBC7 is repeating The Remains of Foley and McColl starting tonight. Somewhat miffed because I won't be able to record any of them (that whole things-in-boxes problem), but I'll listen to them on Listen Again, and so should you, because they're good. They're full'o'crunchy meta, do radio-based jokes rather than being a TV show in waiting, also (most importantly) are funny.

Enjoyed Old Red Rope on Monday night- none of the acts hugely memorable, though, except Robin Ince.

I did myself a little list of things to put in this post. It went "harp, Foley & McColl, Monday", which reminds me of a list in Always Coming Home- I can't remember all of it, but part of it's something like
"A list of things that will be needed two weeks from now.
Certain prickly seeds
Stones with conical depressions in them
A young donkey
Rain"
and there isn't any context to it. Just a nice thing to wonder about.

Well, I've signed the contract; unless one of my referees lets slip about that little baby-eating incident, I'll be starting a new job in a small city in the North in a month. Raaaather a lot to do before I leave. Nervous as anything, also worried about finding somewhere to live, also will miss current colleagues, but excited!

More Summary Executions; many fall-over-laughing comments.

( Weekend )