My mobile phone beeped. That's almost a social event for me, and whilst most texts are usually reminders of phone services or the occaisional marketing ploy, I still give it a read. Just in case.

Remember that you're due to attend a course the message said. Eh? What course? Why wasn't I informed? You see, with the current 'One strike and you're destitute' regime absence could cost me my payments. So naturally I'm a little annoyed by this bureaucratic oversight. Thanks for telling me guys.

Not that it's their fault. The Department of Work and Pensions is notorious for not accepting culpability in any way whatsoever. They are simply never wrong, even when they are.

In The Mood

There's some droning music audible in the library right now. It's that sort of mystical mood music with a persistent basso chord in the background and occaisional twangs on an ethnic instrument. The town hall clock is also banging out the hour as I write, creating a strange medley of sound. Oh no. Someones started singing. Now some others are shouting at him to shut up. Typical day in the library then.

It's very annoying. But then most things that happen in a library are annoying. That bloke to my right is chewing gum. That's annoying. So is the other blokes haircut on my left. The whispered vocal accompaniement to a song played over a headphone is very annoying, as the listener jerks on his seat as if he's suffering repeated mild electric shocks, or the child downstairs intent on letting everyone know how upset he is, and so on. This is proving to be an annoying day.

It could snow later, too.

More Cold Stuff

last night was the coldest I've experienced for some time. The advice on the internet was to wrap up warm rather than rely on central heating. With energy prices going up faster than North Korean artillery shells, it's worth heeding. Nonetheless, despite being warm under the heaps of duvets and layers, it wasn't possible to feel comfortable.

I don't get it. How do eskimo's tolerate even worse conditions than this? They even live in houses made of ice for crying out loud. Are they born with layers of blubber? If I grow some fat, I suffer media criticism, endless advice from knowledgeable people with serious sounding professions, and eventually fatal heart conditions. And I'd still probably feel cold.