Wednesday, January 12, 2005

I quite like cats. It's their sharp-edged tins cutting into my finger that I'm allergic to. The kitchen's mis-en-scene was very Reservoir Dogs first thing. And trying to feed three kids, iron a shirt and have a shave one handed all proved a tad tricky. I started a toaster fire, burning some waffles, before exacerbating my finger damage by allowing some after shave to trickle in there. What a great start.

More and more people appear to be getting dooced. Our fictional NZ friend and possible man in a skirt Biz Girl recently suffered at the hands of a chief librarian with an evil agenda, while a few people have made me aware of this rather nasty bit of bookish business. There's also this, this and this (erm, The Scotsman's short and snappy 'Bookshop worker first to be sacked over internet 'blog' headline' is a tad misleading, methinks). Must remember to send my blog url to the MD and the 802 editors here, he adds, whilst feeling the need to mention that all updates on this site are posted in his own time from his own broadband connection at home. Ahem. I think that the only person I bring into disrepute on this blog is me. Frequently. Oh for a touch of anonymity. Who thinks that might be the way forward? And, Will, what's worse - blogging or masturbating in the workplace?

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