Talk To Rex

Just had a difficult time deciding what music to put on.

Fun as it would be to listen to all my birthday Bowie, I have work to do and he’s far too distracting.

It’s rather sunny outside which suggests Vaughan Williams, but it rained on me very violently earlier and you can still smell the water in the air, which makes him inappropriate. A more wet-weather British composer would be Britten, but I can’t seriously try and work with a Britten opera in the background. Sibelius seemed like a good compromise, as he’s a bit like Vaughan Williams without so many cows, but maybe a little bit too jolly for the time being; on the other hand I didn’t fancy anything melodramatic like Rachmaninov. But it’s definitely a romantic afternoon, which rules out everything pre-Beethoven. And I can’t listen to Beethoven because he reminds me of youth orchestras. A more obscure composer called Stenhammer almost fit the brief, but he’s a bit grandiose and Wagnerian given my slightly delicate state after a weekend of parties and a night of insomnia.

Then it struck me: Mendelssohn. This is most definitely a Reformation Symphony moment.

Sorted.

My fans will be delighted to see that my profile is now up on the Superprep.com website. It’s not the best photo of me ever, but it’s pleasing to see that my arm strength has finally been acknowledged, and I’d like to reassure you all that I’m working on my running ability and mobility.

Not so sure about “he seems to be comfortable when pocket is rolled” though.

#26: Lessons to be learned from birthday parties

If you have a birthday party involving friends who irresponsibly continue to buy you drinks all night to wash down the yummy chocolate cake and slightly misguided quiche, then decide to watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer with your housemate at two in the morning, neither of you will remember anything at all about the episode when you wake up.

Well, we both remember there was a fat man in it, otherwise we haven’t got a clue what happened.

I did, on the other hand, dream a rather exciting episode of Buffy which I remember much better. It had George W. Bush in it and it was very scary. It also had Spike crying because he couldn’t get his hair dye to work and Angel took pity on him which was stupid because it was so obviously a trap.

Anyway. From what I remember of my birthday, it was a very nice one indeed. There was even a glitter ball. Many thanks to all who took part.

It’s thundering overhead, and I’m quite worried. I have another six thousand words to dictate tonight, and how will it look if every other sentence has “rumble” in the middle of it?

#18: Lessons to be learned from Willow

Is it important? Perhaps you should tell Giles.

#17: Lessons to be learned from Angel

If you are an immortal being, you will be seen with a completely absurd haircut and possibly a moustache to match whenever there is a flashback, to signpost to a stupid audience the number of different centuries you have lived in. It’s no wonder you’ll keep waking up in a cold sweat.

Try to immediately vanquish everyone’s memory of the myriad of horrific hairstyles from your past by allowing a provocative amount of your naked, muscled, sweaty body to show.

I get home about eight o’clock these days, which is – quite suddenly, and unexpectedly – around dusk. This means that the balance in my eyes between cones and rods starts to shift, so that although I can still pick out shapes well, only quite bright colours are obvious – sunsets, for instance, are all the more vivid, and so quite beautiful.

Of course, the same thing is happening to other people, which means I really should start using lights when I cycle home.

Maybe not now, no. Now they’re happy, philanthropic people dedicated to good things like bunnies and cold toast. But it hasn’t always been this way – in the 1920s in America they were sadistic little bastards who hazed their initiates just like in those awful frat house movies that used to be popular for no obvious reason.

Only they had companies selling them toys to make it even more fun! Fun! With electricity!

This notice is on all underground trains:

But how do they expect people to phone the transport police when there is no reception on the underground? And even if you could get through to them, how would they fit a helicopter down there?

Is there really a problem with people smoking in open manholes?

This is what a flamingo would look like without a body.

On Neighbours yesterday, the blond annoying one asked her daughter Bree (which is a type of cheese) for reasons why she was a bad Mother.

On reaching number thirty-one on her list, Bree fixed her Mother with a steely gaze and said: ‘Telling me the Mr Whippy vans only played their music when they’d run out of ice creams.’

I nearly choked on my bacon sandwich.