Anyhoo (yes "anyway" was already taken).

Bank, vote, not lib.

No, that isn't a lack of endorsement for the Liberal Democrats, just Lame-Beth refusing to let me read.

It's odd that I can get a vote without showing any identification, but I can't get a library book out without giving them insight into my credit rating.

To join the library I need a bank statement or utility bill. I don't get bank statements since the bank told me that receiving paper statements is a very, very bad thing. I don't pay utility bills [directly]. Ergo I cannot exist.

Sod the passport, which might suggest that I am a person who exists, sod the parcel with the customs sticker on it, which might suggest that can be contacted at the aforementioned address, that the Government admit the address exists, and that the address lies pretty much within Lame-Beth's domain.

Instead palm me off with a form that I can't use until I have some paperwork I won't get. But which I can fill in now, you know, just in case it comes in handy.

Except when I try to fill it in I find it's gloriously glossy, so basically wipe-clean.

By the way, Lame-Beth, your form is ageist. That or the state of the populace of Lame-Beth is such that it is impossible for anyone to reach 100 or older (which, ya know, isn't such a zany idea).

And it's anti-American-ist. And anti-ISO-ist too.

When I say anti-X I mean it doesn't preclude X, but would simply let the wrong date be entered into the system if it happens to be a DDMMYY-format one (but then maybe it does expect YYMMDD format dates; it just doesn't say what the two-by-two-by-two boxes should contain).

While I'm pointing out faults, where's the "please specify" box for the option of "Other" in the title section? "Dear Other Johnston..."

But then it also proclaims 2008 to be the National Year of Reading. If only they'd give me a chance to read I could look forward to it.

And now on to bigger and greater rants.

Anyhoo,

Is it time?

I don't really know what to say here any more. The anonymity thing has thunged, or at least if it hasn't then that's only because here is so moribund Google and ilk forget it exists.

I rarely seem to get past the first third of a post, aborting it mid-draft (I know; parallax, m'dear). But then it's only very seldom that I remember Blogger. It's taken longer to forget than Google Wave, but then it did once have a function. Facebook and Twitter have nicked all the ideas, leaving this place as somewhere waiting to add padding.

That's not quite true, but this isn't what it was. It holds less power now. I can say less. I'm not sure I have any less to say, but it's harder say it here, to say it anywhere, now the world is a little better at finding and knowing.

Except I've just discovered in amongst the moribund blogs a green shoot of recovery. The old guard live on. So there goes the "well, everyone else isn't doing it" reason.

Ok, so maybe I'll carry and not so much hang the consequences but simply hope there are none. I've been doing that for an age. All it takes is not counting some of the consequences as consequences.

So what's happened since last I wrote? When was that anyway?

Ok, so what's happened recently? Well, the side-project that never really was now isn't again, only in the other way. I just have vision issues. Romping in Elysian fields (clearly without bothering with the death bit) seems so bloody unlikely. I think I need to reread... was it James that was "I can and I will"? Obarm myself.

Other stuff that I've no idea if I mentioned: Theatre.

Because I can and I will and I lastminute cheap but surprisingly good seats. Ok, so so far the grand total has been Waiting for Godot (because, well, it's like reading Dickens or Austen; it's something one simply should have done [don't point out I've never read either]. That and I missed something I wanted to see and had missed WfG the last time round, so thought seeing something on your own is better than not seeing it) and The Little Dog Laughed, because Mr 5500 commented on it and he's my Jai, although he may not know this (though last.fm apparently does. We're 'SUPER'. Oops). But then left to my own devices, not would I probably would, but my listening seems to revolve around tie-in music (last three songs played being that one from Glee, but not by them, that one from the John Lewis Christmas ad which is in no way linked to the BBC2 JL documentary that was on whenever it was, and The Gadsdens covering Small Town Boy, which is bound to turn up in some soap break up montage. Not that I watch soaps. Well, except for one that had Chryed, which is not very good but either both actors have been sacked or it's their turn again soon [it's a soap; they can't let the dead stay dead, let alone lingering desire stick at that]).

So what has this taught me? That there's nothing to be done and that I wear rentboy clothes.

Well, if one must shop in H&M. Was very glad I'd planned to wear it the next evening, as that could have been... conversation starting.

Um, yep this looks like it's all making about as much sense as ever. All I need now is to master the master of magic spells part (except being me, I just checked I'd remembered it right, and it's the rhyme of the line I was referring to. And I must be back because Google's cache of my searches just became a lot less useful for them).

Still don't know how to end these things though. Not that I ever really get the start right (ooh, shoes flashback) or the middle beyond middling.

So um, other other news: I think I may have worked out why my Lemon Surprise Pudding (p588 in the other bible) always has the wrong surprise. SA:Vol.

Anyhoo,

Tweets I doubt I'll ever use.
- There are worse things I could do than buy three for the price of two.
- Forthright, if not always right.

Or more likely forget to use in an appropriate situation. Though I've never quite managed to get my phone to tweet, so that might have something to do with it.

Anyhoo,