I tell you, Facebook is killing this blog.

I'm a simple sort of person, in more ways than one, and Facebook is killing this blog.

It's not conscious, but my brain says "Why bother with all that? The sentences, and the tippy-tappy, and the making sense, when you can just log in to Facebook, and type "Hieronymus Anonymous is eating some toast" and be done with it?"

But I like blogging. And, although my brain is clearly a lazy, lazy thing, much like a sloth, I am NOT RULED BY IT! *ahem* Although I should point out that I am a bit, as my keyboard set itself to the American configuration months ago, and I can't be bothered to work out how to change it back. I have, instead, invested a lot of time in workarounds. I know, I know. Stupid, right?

So I'm going to try (and probably fail) to post here at least once a week from now on. We'll see how it goes, eh?

This week has sucked. After last week, when Spock died, I thought that this week would be a quiet week of mourning and contemplation. Didn't even get the bloody chance. I had an unbelievably shitty day at work on Tuesday, and ended up with a headache. So I thought, as is my way, that I'd go to Waterstones to buy a book to cheer myself up. My card was refused at the till.

I ended up having to go along to my bank to find out what was going on. The bank tells me it's because I'm in arrears on my old credit card payments. Ok, say I, that's fine. Can I pay them off now? No, says the cashier. You must phone this number and speak to the credit department. Hmm, I say. Ok.
I phone the credit department, who very helpfully tell me that I am £5.81 in arrears, but that 1) I can't pay that off over the phone, 2) I can't set up the standing order that I've been trying to set up for ages over the phone and 3) They can't do anything about my debit card. He gives me a number for the debit department, and lets me loose. I phone the debit department, and end up through to the same place I'd been a moment before. The nice lady also tells me 1-3. She says I need to go back to the branch to deal with it. Yay! Round and round I go!
I go back to the branch the next day.

Luckily, a very, very nice young woman called Magda takes charge, and after a good 30-40 minutes, manages to get my arrears (all £5.81 of it!) paid off, and sets me up a standing order. She tells me that my card will be unblocked first thing the next morning. I want to kiss her, I'm so relieved, but settle for thanking her profusely.

Next morning, I check my bank card. It's still blocked. Ok, I think, but it's 8am. They might just not have got to it yet. I check after work. It's still blocked. I toddle back to the bank. Magda (and her colleague Dawn) take my card, and disappear into a window-lined office, where I can see their reactions as they have to deal with the people on the other end of the phone line. I get bored after a bit, and just sit on their sofa, reading my book. After 40 minutes of arguing, they get my card unblocked, and I go home.

Would it be creepy to make Magda a cake for being so helpful? Dawn could have a bit, too...

Yeah, so that was Thursday. On Friday morning, we awoke to find that Sam had escaped.
We didn't find her until yesterday, when she pootled out from under the back of the fridge, merrily eating mank from the floor. She had got something smudged on her upper lip which gives her a bit of a Hitler moustache. I have been singing the Dad's Army theme tune at her since we found her. She doesn't look amused. But then, nor would Hitler. But then, is WWHD? a sensible thing to start? I suspect the answer would always be "Invade Poland".

Jesus, I'm out of practice in writing this. With the sentences and all.

Ok, I'll see you back here in a week. I'll bring three types of tea and you bring some form of confectionery, ok?

PS: Things that confuse me number 17489262: Mirrors which are nearer than you think, leading me to stare at what I think are two identical Light My Fire blue sporks on my dressing table (there is an innocent reason for it being there, I promise) wondering when Matt bought the second one. Maybe I should just go back to bed.