dylan

Nice to see we're handling the whole hideous London bombing in a wonderfully British way. None of that mass hysteria and wild threats for us, thank you very much, just some orderly queueing and a nice cup of tea.

Today I got out of the bloody house and went to meet up with an old friend in Brighton - pub lunch and cinema.
Now, War of the Worlds...I thought, Tom Cruise, that slimy little gimp, and Stephen Spielberg, who in my mind is mainly a purveyor of mindless soppiness in tooth rottingly sickly films - to be honest I thought it would a) suck, b) put me to sleep, and c) have me reaching for the sick bag. I was expecting many close ups of simpering child actor and vomit inducing family loyalty and "I'll never leeaaavvveee yoooouuuuu" speeches. And yes okay there was some of that (though it has to be said, Dakota Fanning is far FAR less irritating than most kids in film), but bloody hell it was actually pretty harrowing, and as far as sitting there feeling like I was being bludgeoned round the head can count as enjoying something, I um, enjoyed it.
And I have to go to work soon I think. Which is okay, I was fed up of sitting in the house with them shouting things like "Is Dylan still in?" "Well I think she is, I haven't heard her go out" "Well I haven't seen her all day" etc etc etc, right outside my door. How much effort would it be to just knock and ask? Oh I'm forgetting though, he doesn't knock, just walks in and starts talking at me about walls and plaster and paint and I sit there going "ah. good. yes. mm. i see. yes." until he goes away again.
Bahhhhhh.

Also, in this internet cafe, even though it is a lot posher and more expensive than my usual (so I won't be coming back here), there is a fabulous little tool bar running across the top of my screen, offering me super quick links to "Amateurs", "Sex Images", "Adults", "Sex Toys" and "Hardcore". Accompanied by cute pixelated icons of what I can only assume are meant to be breasts, not beachballs.