Anyhoo (yes "anyway" was already taken).

Things I've learnt so far.

Never give a carrot to a beggar. Well, the stupid sod did try to scrounge money for 'food' from me when I was sitting a park eating reduced carrots for lunch because I'd refused to pay that much for a sandwich. One would think that if someone is obviously unwilling to spend money on themselves then the likelihood of generosity to others may not be great, so maybe carrot eating isn't a strong enough indicator of miserliness.

Who did the BBC's Olympic theming? Because it seems suspiciously like Monkey, via the Gorillaz. Possibly because... research is good yo.

I quite like Happy Hour cocktails on a Friday. Cuban drinks and English indie rocks.

Salesmen's brains melt easily. If I can conceive it then the it by definition cannot be unthinkable (ok, it was my boss's idea and I thought it was bit impractical, but worth a try).

It could be quite bad idea to set up my boss with a friend. Although there's only one way to find out.

The Highways Agency is unadventurous.

I never dial 9, and so presumably infuriate reception no end with my multitudinous fleeting calls.

Printing instead of saving is easy to do.

Alt-tabbing between CAD and Googlemaps can only end in tears; bloody inconsistent mouse controls.

I persist in using Firefox shortcuts in work's IE, despite them not working.

Entering a phone number into Excel will not connect you.

Oystercards do not open either Chubb or mortice locks.

Oh and apparently a move that could be construed as a rugby tackle is seemingly not all that acceptable in softball (rounders with a bigger bat and ball). I maintain it wasn't a proper tackle, simply cushioning the blow and that he had both feet on the base thereby blocking me getting one on (and making himself potentially unstable). Anyway, I was merely following the example of our illustrious mayor, the Dulux of Oaf. Or possibly acting under influence of Pimms (I don't do out, except when I didn't know the rules). But I stayed in, so seem to have got away with it.

Innocent is not so. Bloody mock twee 'village fete' forcing us to play in the long grass (and endure their sound-checks).

And we (er, what was her blogname? Think one was Jetty, so I'll stick with that) think that there ought to be awards for the worse internet sex scene as portrayed in a film simply because we'd just seen Closer. I know it was out years ago, but neither of us had seen it, and, er, neither are likely to again. It's one of those films that leaves one wondering not only which character one is meant to emphasise with, except by the end of it I was left wondering whether I was supposed to be remotely interested in any of the characters. Tedious and ill-judged. Although possibly thinking it was going to be a romantic comedy may have made me approach it from the wrong angle. Basically all the characters could do with watching Brief Encounter (I know in the play there is no ambiguity as to what occurs, but the Closer clan need a dose of for-the-best).

Which reminds me that Vernon God Little is slightly shorter than I wanted it to be. Not only were there occasional words at the end that were light-casty, so needing a bit more explanation than they provide (instead of wondering if they really just said that), but it managed to finish two stops into the commute on my birthday. And so as there were no cute guys within eyeshot and only intentionally-depressing irrelevances upside-down in other people's papers, I resorted to re-reading the last chapter and finding that yes, it does still say that, and so not quite getting part of it again. Although I think I've just got it now. Possibly this ties in with finally having learnt to call it by the actual title rather than as Vernon Little God.

Or possibly not.

That is all, except for the mass of things I've forgotten.

Anyhoo,