Holy crap! Thanks to my blog being mentioned in the 69th Tangled Bank Blog Carnival compiled by the sceptical archaeologist Martin Rundkvist, my hits for the day have gone through the roof. Deep breath now…220 hits on Wednesday! I bow my head in awe. Let’s hope I can keep some of these visitors by doing what I do best…which is…well…the usual, I suppose.
So down to business…the annual Christmas party at work. Shiver…
Now personally I would be happy with a burger and chips and a very large credit card for buying booze with. But in an attempt to inject some culture into the proceedings the new boss decided to take us to a Lebanese place famous for its food as well as its nubile female abdominal performers.
So the food arrived in several confusing waves, with not very much in the way of veggie stuff. Among the delights was baked artichoke, tasty as an old tennis shoe, which was accompanied by at least six different kinds of goo. And then all thoughts of food dissipated as the belly dancer arrived, and strutted her embarrassing stuff and – oh God no – pulled up one of the 50-something accountants from the next table and proceeded to boogie with him.
All the men at my table slid lower in their chairs in fear, and luckily the lady in the furry bra passed us by, perhaps sensing that we were far too intellectual for that sort of thing, or perhaps just scared shitless of dancing in public with a half-naked 20 year old.
Then there was some drinking, and some hanging around while deciding where to go next, and then going somewhere else – you get the picture.
And so tomorrow, me and M are off to Ireland, which now has Irish as its official language. This, of course, is the final nail in the coffin for the old teanga. When the English were in charge, Irish was outlawed and therefore everybody spoke it. Then when the country became independent most people stopped speaking it. And making it the official language is the last step to extinction. This is possibly due to the Irish preferring to do the exact opposite of what they should be doing, or just because they are contrary bastards the lot of them.
And so my loyal readers (all 220 of you!) I will return in a week or so, and in the meantime here’s a picture of some guy running on custard:
Figure 1: Fucked if I know…