Wendy!

The Fug Blog I was telling you about last night.

So, perhaps I'm not going to the Middle East.

A few weeks ago, I got a phone call to say that BMI had changed the time of my flight home. Which was very RARGH-inducing but there wasn't much I could do about it. I asked the travel agent to confirm that my current e-ticket number would be fine for the time-changed flight.

"Oh, it's never been an e-ticket," she said. "We've been waiting for you to come in and pick up your hard tickets."

*headdesk*

Anyway, she said she'd check whether I needed new hard tickets and call back to let me know. I didn't hear anything so, at the weekend, I went into the travel agent to see what they had to say.

They hadn't checked.

They couldn't check there and then because the company they needed to speak to didn't open at the weekend.

They'd call and let me know.

They didn't.

I went in last weekend and was told that there were no worries, my existing hard tickets would be fine. I asked about the possibility of getting on an earlier shuttle from Heathrow to Manchester, to save hanging around at Heathrow for eight hours. They said they'd call and let me know.

They didn't.

I went in today and spoken to a woman who didn't give the impression of having been hit very hard on the head with a sledgehammer. This was novel and quite encouraging.

She promptly rang another company and informed me that, yes, I did need new hard tickets and they'd be available for me to pick up from Wednesday.

I pointed out that I fly out on Saturday at 7.30 am and work (allegedly) 9-5 during the week and they, unlike every other shop in the mall, don't do late night opening. So there was no way I could get the tickets. Post them special delivery to my home? she suggested. Except there would be nobody in to sign for them because, oh yes, I'd be at work. Could they post them special delivery to my work? I asked. No, it has to be to the billing address for my card. Could somebody else come in and pick them up? she asked. No, I said, because all my friends work.

I've left it that they're going to see if they can get an e-ticket, rather than a hard ticket. If they can't, I'm going to have to take a half-day's holiday. And considering I wound up working 84 hours last week, I have absolutely no idea how I'm going to manage that.

This time next week, I'll be on my way to Syria.

*flails madly*

How did it get so close? Last time I looked, I was a month away from going! This is my last weekend! To do stuff!

*panics*

People at the pub on Tuesday, this is the vid I was talking about.

If it weren't for Pratchett, I wouldn't be in my current career. Which, for the record, I love. (Thanks, Stewart.)

Latvia need to win Eurovision.

(Although I can't help twitching a little at mention of a 'bridge' when their outfits are obviously based on age of sail and bridge is a post-paddlesteamer term.)

Sex Pistols, MEN Arena, November 17. Anybody fancy coming with me?

I have no idea who the support are but I'm living in hope it'll be X-Ray Spex or the Slits. Okay, it won't be but a girl can dream.

I'll be at Waterstones tonight. Give me a bell if you're going to be around.

wendym, I told you I'd got a photo of the bunny poster!

( It's cute but... )

I appear to have accidentally booked for the 2008 Discworld Con.

Whoops?

I think it's because I've got cons on the brain at the moment.

Gone to Australia.

Back in three weeks.

I went to the supermarket. And got distracted by a shoe shop.

I now own a pair of tevas, which I've been planning on buying for ages and which were quarter-price, and a pair of metallic bronze Sketchers. Which I don't actually need in the slightest but they're pretty and quite ridiculously comfortable. And considering how much difficulty I have in finding comfortable shoes, I tend to buy them whenever I stumble across them.

I also nearly bought a pair of £400 Ralph Laurens, on the grounds that they were reduced to £20, but they were last season, dahling. (Also, they were uncomfortable. I think the fact the latter was more important is proof that I'll never be a fashionista.)

Most of my coworkers are as foul-mouthed and sweary as me. One of them, however... I got a phone call from him.

Him: Will you be offended if I swear?
Me: Nope!
Him: I've been talking to an- an absolute blithering idiot!

I was shocked! Shocked, I say!

*sigh* My local haberdashers is closing in a couple of months. Which, on the bright side, means all their embroidery threads, bobbins, floss boxes, fabric, etc, is currently Buy One, Get One Free. But, in the long term, no local needlework shop. I'm buying up as much as I can while it's still there. This is my excuse for buying a sewing machine. (Which wasn't BOGOF but was 60% off.)

I lasted nearly five months before exploding into a rant along the lines of, "I am not your 'love' so stop calling me that, you patronising fucking arsehole!"

Which, for me, is extremely good going.

Help!

My computer, she go splat. This may be related to the fact that I took a stick of RAM out to see what kind it was and was a little... vicious putting it back in.

I'm now unsure whether I've fried the RAM or the mobo. Or, hell, both.

And I'm thinking I may as well upgrade the mobo anyway, to something that doesn't need arsing RDRAM.

But I have no idea where to start with choosing a new mobo.

I currently have an Intel D850GB with a 2gig Pentium 4 processor. I'm open-minded on upgrading the processor or not - it's not as though 2gig is obsolete nowadays but I do like the idea of getting something with a bit more wellie.

So... Any suggestions?

Damn, I really wish I'd gone to Discworld Con this year.

*wails pitifully*

Don't suppose anybody's willing to run me down for an evening in the bar then run me home again? No? Didn't think so.

I only realised I'd missed Jim's barbecue when I bumped into Michelle and Stuart at a service station on the M6 and they told me.

I'm so smart.

Girl-wonder.org.

We are, apparently, taking over Teh Intarwebs.

I went to Chester Zoo and took a lot of photos. Largely of orangutans because they're ludicrously photogenic.