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May 31, 2006
Bribing the Post Office.
Our parents' generation are so quick to remind us that there was a time when you could pop a First Class stamp on a letter, post it before 5pm and it would arrive at its destination first thing THE VERY NEXT DAY.
I know, I know it is pretty difficult to comprehend but once upon a time that was the meaning of a First Class stamp; a first class service, even the letter’s Second Class cousin would faithfully follow a couple of days later.
Now I’m informed that despite our grander network of roads, apparently faster vehicles and (ahem) efficient train system, a First Class stamp, no longer guarantees next day delivery. If I want my letter to be delivered properly I have to fork out for what they now call Special Delivery.
I can’t help but to feel as if I’ve been had. I‘m disappointed in the Post Office for taking advantage of those in a vulnerable position. ‘Cough cough Ms Elephant, if you slip us a couple of extra quid we’ll do our job properly, if you see what I mean.’ My letter had to arrive the next day, so I had no choice but to give in to their underhand demands.
Some might say that this has more to do with my rocky relationship with deadlines than the decline in our postal service but they can say what they like, I’m not listening.
As with all dodgy exchanges of money, I can’t help but wonder if this is the first foothold on a very slippery slope. That seemingly sweet old lady visited me in my dreams last night, my important letter was hovering over the paper shredder and the most evil grin spread across her face as she said, ‘Slip us your life savings Ms Elephant or the letter gets it.’
Posted by purple elephant at 11:06 AM |
May 29, 2006
Forwarded emails
I’m not usually a fan of forwarded emails (or their even more irritating progeny the forwarded text message). If they are supposed to be funny, they rarely actually are, or even worse are those that are supposed to contain some brand new life changing affirmation that the sender just has to share with her entire address book, when really what they contain is a cliched empty platitude. (You can do anything if you put your mind to it! Kids are full of such wisdom, especially if they are sick or disabled or something! Smile! There’s always someone worse off than you! Need I continue?) Then to top it off they usually close with the assertion that the reader’s wishes will only come true if she passes this drivel on to at least ten people, which in my opinion is just the same as the insistence that bad luck will pour on the person who ignores the email......
Phew! Now I’ve got that out my system, I would like to add that I actually detest bad drivers, blind displays of patriotism and football more than the forwarded email, so I did actually chuckle when the following appeared in my inbox yesterday.
Details of the new driving initiative that has just come into operation.DEPT OF TRANSPORT INITIATIVE - MAY 2006.
Information Release.
There is concern over the current driving standards in England, so the
Department of Transport have devised a scheme to identify poor and dangerous
drivers. This system will allow all road users to recognise the potentially
hazardous and dangerous ones, or those with limited driving skills.From the middle of May 2006 all those drivers who are found to be a
potential hazard to all other road users will be issued with a white flag,
bearing a red cross. This flag clearly indicates their inability to drive
properly. These flags must be clipped to a door of the car and be visible to
all other drivers and pedestrians.Those drivers who have shown particularly poor driving skills will have to
display two flags: One on each side of the car to indicate an even greater
lack of skill and limited driving intelligence. Please circulate this to as
many other motorists as you can, in order that drivers and pedestrians will
be aware of the meaning of these flags.Thank you for your co-operation.
Department of Transport.
Posted by purple elephant at 09:15 AM |
May 27, 2006
How to get yourself out of sticky situations the Purple Elephant way. Part One; The Look.
So Littleone has this friend round for tea and I manage to dish up
without poisoning them. Yes I know, one point to me.
Except when I take Friend home, Friend’s Mum suggests a quick half in the beer garden at The Pub at the End of the Road. Oh this probably sounds like a pleasant enough idea to you but then you haven’t been in The Pub at the End of the Road. Only the other week I was complaining to my brother that I wouldn’t set foot in that dive, even if it held the last bottle of whiskey in the world.
Well it didn’t hold the last bottle of whiskey but still what with one thing or another yesterday evening I found my size 6s crossing that threshold.
We had barely sat down when this guy saunters over. I’m not afraid to admit that I took an instant dislike to him. I know I should have learned a lesson about judging a book by its cover from that incident last year but in yesterday’s case I was right. Unfortunately though he also happens to be the Friend’s neighbour.
So he sits down at our bench and instantly starts moaning about ‘the wife’ and then announces that it is his birthday and he and his mates are heading off clubbing. He thinks he might go to the Junction, does Friend's mum know what’s on down there tonight? She doesn’t know..
‘It’s not queer night is it?’ He asks.
‘No,’ she says ‘Dot Cotton is on a Thursday.’
‘Are you sure.’
I’m beginning to feel increasingly more and more uncomfortable, I don’t like the way this conversation is going, I don’t like the tone of his voice. I don’t like the pub. I want to go home. In these situations I have trouble keeping my mouth shut but I have no choice, there is no-one around who would stick up for me if it got nasty and of course there is the small but important fact that I’m with my kid, but I can’t listen to it, I just can’t.
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ she says ‘it’s a Thursday.’
‘Thank fuck for that,’ he says, ‘cos the last thing I want is to be stuck in that place with a load of fucking......’
And then he stops. He is looking at me, heaven knows why. Suddenly he pushes the remainder of his pint towards Friend’s Mum with a sneer.
‘You better finish this’ he says.
She looks at him bewildered.
‘I’ve got a bus to catch.’ he says and he is off without saying goodbye.
Well it certainly wasn’t something I said because I didn’t say anything, the only thought that crossed my mind was that perhaps my look said it all.
Either way you will certainly not catch me in that pub again and next time I have to drop Littleone’s friend back home, I shall go brandishing a bottle of wine or something. I’ll probably bolt the doors too...
Posted by purple elephant at 09:13 PM |
May 23, 2006
Random thoughts
1) I just realised that I have left the balcony door unlocked for three days now. Although it is our family joke that any burglar breaking into our house would probably take one look around and leave us fifty quid on the side.
2) My slippers have been missing since the weekend. Do you think this is simply coincidence?
3) I hit 65,000 words on the novel today. I cracked open the orange squash (because that’s all there was dear Burglar, in case you were wondering I haven’t had a scotch whiskey for ages and damn where did I put the keys to the back door again?) in celebration because it felt like I had stuck on the 64,000 mark for months, mainly because I kept deleting crap bits and finding more succinct ways of expressing myself, which is a good thing of course but also a bit disheartening because in terms of quantity it feels like I’m getting nowhere.
4) Boo! To the guy who chickened out and dealt too early on Deal or No Deal today. So you made the 18 grand deposit on your house, well that’s great, really it is but don’t you think you have a responsibility to make it a good show for the rest of us? Oh and another lesson learned, if your hormones are all over the place due to pregnancy, don’t go and watch your boyfriend in the audience to Deal or No Deal, you’ll cry when he wins the money and cry when he doesn’t win the money and those of us at home will laugh because it’s just MONEY at the end of the day.
5) Having said that most of us probably do cry over money when those bills come pouring in but not in a dabbing a delicate hanky in the corner of our eye kind of way, personally I would say it’s more of a cracking your head against the kitchen tiles whilst wailing mournfully thing, but maybe that’s just me and anyway at least we have the dignity to do so in our own homes.... so like I say Mr. Burglar.....
6) What was I saying about being succinct?.....
7) Did I mention that we’ve got a cat?.....
Posted by purple elephant at 11:38 PM |
May 22, 2006
What did I tell you? I’m not going to shut up about this.
Disadvantages of owning a cat
1) The smell of tuna first thing in the morning.
2) Finding grainy bits of cat litter everywhere.
3) My God, this cat is eating us out of house and home.
4) Cat litter, cat food; great yet more to lug back from the supermarket in the rain.
5) Ginger cat hairs on black trousers.
The best thing abut owning a cat that kind of makes up for all of the above.
1) Having to read an extra chapter with your feet up because he has settled down on your lap and he looks just soooooo comfortable.
I could get used to this.
Posted by purple elephant at 09:39 PM |
May 20, 2006
Allow me to introduce the latest addition to our family...
Oh my god, not that. What were you thinking?
A friend of ours is moving in with her boyfriend who is sadly (for him) allergic to pets, so this morning we became the permanent adopters of Sammy the cat. It’s official because his little silver disc now has my mobile number on it. So if he comes a wandering in your direction, do send him home.
I thought he’d be nervous at first, so I laid out his blanket (from his old home) on our bed in case he wanted to run and hide but he has been content to sit on the table in the corner of the living room watching us come and go, and he’s gobbled two sachets of cat food, so he doesn’t seem to be pining too badly.
We always had cats when I lived with my parents but since then money has been rather tight and we have moved about a bit, so it wouldn’t have been fair, but lately I’ve really been missing feline company, so when this offer popped up, I just couldn’t refuse.
If you are not interested in gooey pet blogs, then you might want to move on for the next couple of weeks. Something tells me this won’t be the last catty post.
Posted by purple elephant at 08:55 PM |
May 18, 2006
10 Years Younger - No way!
Studying literature has its purposes, sometimes I can read a book from a while ago and I can pat us on the back for exactly how far women have come in the past couple of hundred years or so. But then all that can be battered to death by the simple act of forgetting to turn off the TV when I put my daughter to bed.
I came back down last night to witness quite the most hideous and disgusting programme I’ve seen for quite some time. A glance at yesterday’s paper tells me that this programme was entitled, I kid you not, ‘10 Years Younger; Bikini Special’. A brief synopsis goes something like this; A normal looking 37 year old mother is paraded round in a bikini in some godforsaken rotting hell hole of a beach and people are asked to guess her age. When the general opinion (48) has humiliated her enough, she gets whisked away on an orgy of surgery (face lift, tummy tuck, boob job) dowsed in chemicals (fake tan, make up and hair dye) and dragged back to the beach to be subjected to the same humiliation but dear reader, this story has a happy ending because everyone now thinks she is 30! So presumably she is now allowed to live happily ever after.
But the most repulsive is yet to come, the whole point seemed to be that this woman, before the programme, had already lost half her original body weight. But did she do it by slogging away down the gym coupled with a healthy balanced diet? Not at all, it seems she had already been under the knife, to have half her stomach removed so that she couldn’t eat normal healthy portions, so that she had to pump herself full of pills at every meal because she couldn’t absorb enough vitamins to like er well keep her alive really. Let's hear it for her! Clap! Clap! And what disgusted me the most is that Channel Four did not condemn this act quite as much as it should, or at least not on the grounds that the woman will not be able to eat properly for the REST OF HER LIFE. The only complaint was that she was left with a certain amount of sagging skin around her stomach that had to be remedied by (yes you’ve guessed it) yet more surgery.
Where were the real experts flocking out to built her confidence in other ways, so that looking like a pre-pregnancy teenager was no longer the only way she felt she could gain acceptance? Where were the experts arguing that ‘letting yourself go’ is not necessarily a crime? It just means that as you get older you have other priorities, be it kids, career or chocolate biscuits. And finally where were the experts pointing out that there are healthier ways of spending your two weeks holiday, than parading your newly falsely acquired body up and down a sizzling beach like a prize cut of meat? I for one would recommend a walking holiday along the Dorset Coast. There is no need to expose your body to prying eyes and the Mediterranean midday sun in revealing swimwear; your carbon footprint and will be drastically reduced by the avoidance of cheap flights; the scenery is, in my humble opinion, infinitely more aesthetically pleasing; and the wonderful by-product is you might even find that you lose a few excess pounds from you know, this thing called ‘gentle exercise.’
Posted by purple elephant at 08:07 AM |
May 15, 2006
I wish this was a joke...
Government review - teaching British Values in schools might prevent a another July 5th.
You can always trust Boris Johnson to come out with a goodie;
"For 30 years the British education establishment has cow-towed to the doctrines of multiculturalism and they have deprecated all the institutions and symbols that unite the country."
Damn us multicultralists, it’s all our fault.
I think we would do better to remind youngsters that the foreign policy regarding Israel, the war in Iraq and Afghanistan are just a few of the symbols that certainly DIDN’T unite our country.
A majority of us were against and continue to be against such atrocities.
Posted by purple elephant at 06:29 PM |
May 14, 2006
Because life is full of contrasts
Spent a pleasant and peaceful day yesterday at Knole House and Park in Kent. I chatted to some Sika and Fallow Deer and some very knowledgeable National Trust staff. I wandered in and out of the rooms admiring the Gainsboroughs, Van Dycks, Reynolds and the 17th Century tapestries on the walls. I shared a rather civilised coffee in the tea rooms and best of all, saw the manuscript copy of Orlando a gift from Virginia Woolf to Vita Sackville-West.... I now fully understand how such grandeur could inspire such works as Orlando and The Edwardians and how Vita Sackville West was so despondent that the estate should pass out of her hands (of course she could not inherit it, she was a woman.)
I spent the evening with some friends in a bar in Stevenage Leisure Park. The company was great but the music pounded in my head and the aroma of Red Bull and too-strong perfume/ aftershave nauseated me, not to mention the Stella fuelled men who took a group of females without male escort to be an invitation .... Oh and the toilets were heaving (ha!) with women (many of them old enough to know better) either vomiting in the cubicles, touching up the tenth layer of make up or crying over some bloke who wouldn’t sleep with them. Nobody seemed to be doing what you are actually supposed to be doing in toilets...
When the music stopped at 2am a group of Coppers stood looking bored, ready and waiting for the fights that were no doubt about to kick off...
I don’t particularly like being a snob but some days leave me no choice. I end up thinking of John Betjeman and wondering if he wouldn’t mind sending those bombs over towards Stevenage when they’ve finished with Slough.
‘Come friendly bombs, and fall on Slough It isn’t fit for humans now There isn’t grass to graze a cow Swarm over death.’
and,
‘And get that man with double chin Who’ll always cheat and always win, Who washes his repulsive skin In women’s tears.And smash his desk of polished oak
And smash his hands so used to stroke
And stop his boring dirty joke
And make him yell.’
Posted by purple elephant at 06:29 PM |
May 12, 2006
One tiresome assignment in ....
... with seconds to spare, barely time to catch my breath before I have to drag my kid straight from school onto the train and round my Dad's for his birthday tea. Then it's off to my Mum's for a weekend of National Trust visiting madness, I've also got to scrape an hour or two together to visit an old school friend who also has a birthday.... and that's not to mention all the other people who catch wind of me being back in my home town and want a drink.... Shhhh don't tell them.
Before all that I've got to think of some present ideas.....
Someone make it stop.
Anyone?
Posted by purple elephant at 07:25 AM |
May 09, 2006
Rain-covers, bibs and bus passes
As if working out that I’ll never be Olympic Medallist (or was it the Commonwealth, I forget) wasn’t enough for one month. It as if the floodgates have been opened and middle age has descended on me from a great height. There is nothing I can do about it, everything I say and think is now sounding like my mother and occasionally, more worryingly, my father. Yesterday it slipped out, I couldn’t help it and once I’d said it I realised it really was the dot on the signature for the old bus pass.
No I didn’t watch a gathering of mini-skirted young girls wander past and wrapping my arms around my torso and hunching my shoulders declare ‘My! They’ll catch the death of cold!’ For in truth I’ve been doing that since I was twelve.
No I didn’t bellow at my daughter, ‘I won’t tell you again. TIDY YOUR TOYS AWAY!’ before reminding her 2.5 seconds later to, yes you’ve guessed it, TIDY HER TOYS AWAY, because I’ve been doing that since my daughter was old enough to clear up after herself.
What I said was far more serious and spontaneous than either of these telling snippets into my thought process and I thank the Goddess (alas the Maiden has long abandoned me, the Mother is on her way out, I think my guardian is now the Crone) that there was only a bewildered one-year-old to witness my words.
I was babysitting for the afternoon the child of some friends of ours and had first been astonished by the Bib that Does Up At The Side. If I ever have any more kids I shall be eternally grateful that I no longer have to yank the kid’s head forward and catch the velcro on the cute little tuft of hair at the nape of the neck. The Bib that Does Up At The Side is one of those marvellous why-did-no-one-think-of-this-earlier? type inventions. Mothers of the world unite in praise of she (let’s face it) who thought up this simple yet life changing phenomenon, a time saver on our already over-cluttered days.
Next up I had to take her to fetch my own daughter from school. as it was raining I allowed an extra 15 minutes for getting ready, mainly to work out and position the rain-cover that had been slung on the basket at the bottom of the buggy. Our first pram we owned for nearly twelve months and even that was not ample time to decipher how the rain-cover worked, all those separate parts, it never quite looked right. We were convinced that we were sent the wrong one, until we got our stroller and what the hell was going on there? What was that ENORMOUS bubble for? How big did they expect my daughter to grow before she could walk?
But anyway there was I? Yesterday suddenly with 14 minutes to spare because the rain-cover was simple, just one sheet of plastic, the wider end clipped onto the hood and as it narrowed it clipped onto the bottom. Again, thank you! But I was caught off guard in its simplicity and without thinking I found myself leaning into the buggy and commenting;
‘Things are so much easier now than when my kid was young.’
What?
I mean I would understand if there had been some New Dawn where motherhood was concerned and the debates as to what’s best for your child had become less emotive. If mothers were no longer ganging up on each other, championing their own formula of motherhood as if it was the only way; the correct age to give birth; what to feed your baby (breast is best so long as you don’t do it in public) whether you should work or stay at home and heaven forbid you if you smack or don’t smack your child.... as if all this had abated and someone had thrown their arms in the air and declared that if it’s best for you, then it’s probably best for your child.
But there was I concluding that everything was easier all over a couple of gadgets which together might save a mother a whole ten seconds from her day. If someone had invented a device that makes your baby sleep soundly between the hours of 10pm and 7am then I might have had a point and even today I'd pay good money for something like that.
And anyway if my not-even-five year old daughter is no longer young then what the hell does that make me? I know that the way she stamps her foot and storms up to her room at the slightest encouragement might appear teen-like but heavens above, she is still only four years old and 112 centimetres tall. It only been a few years since she clambered those stairs on her hands and knees for the first time, since I was battling with rain-covers and tying bibs at the back. It wasn’t so long ago now was it?
Now my mouth is a little dry from all this reminiscing, I should have a Murray Mint lurking in the bottom of my handbag somewhere. I’m off to rummage in amongst the used tissues and old receipts.
Posted by purple elephant at 09:40 AM |
May 05, 2006
Hideous.
Congratulations to all my neighbours for one of the most apathetic turnouts in Cambridge. (29.61%) Although it is not entirely their fault, apart from a few LibDem leaflets shoved through the door and a Labour woman telephoning to ask a few questions (and incidentally making the incorrect assumption that both my husband and I would vote the same) no one has dropped round to convince me that they are worthy of my vote. I know there was a huge Green effort over in the Abbey ward and it paid off as they came in second there (with a similar turnout). As for here, we came fourth with 193 votes.
I actually feel slightly ashamed that I didn’t volunteer my services. Next time, next time.
Posted by purple elephant at 10:05 PM |
May 04, 2006
Because I’m worth it ..... apparently...
I did two things today, of course I didn’t only do two things today (how I long for a day that would hold only two tasks for me) what I actually mean is that I did two things worth noting.
1) I cast my vote
2) I got a haircut
At a first glance these appear to be two events with little connection, except that perhaps they took place during the same otherwise inconsequential Thursday but as I sat nervously waiting in the local college for my cheap haircut I worked out that in my adult life I have actually visited the ballot box MORE than I have visited the hairdressers.
No really, I kid you not.
I actually pity the poor girl who had to turn my mop into something presentable but she did a good job, bless her and for that I shall be eternally grateful.
Now all I’ve got to do is wait and see if anyone can work the same miracle on my ballot paper, I know at least two other people voted Green in our area, I overheard them in the queue,
That’s three and counting.....
Posted by purple elephant at 10:44 PM |
The Drugs Don’t Work
Note to self;
Do not pop one hayfever tablet first thing in the morning and then an hour later assume that as the anti-histamine has had no effect that it will not hurt to take another one, just this once. For you will shortly remember that last year the non-drowsy formula was as good as useless and you stocked up with what appears to be zombie-inducing formula instead.
Come the evening the usually simple task of staying awake during Desperate Housewives will be a feat unaccomplished.
Not that you could see the TV screen anyway, through those puffed up watery eyes.
Posted by purple elephant at 07:39 AM |
May 02, 2006
My Precious Bane.
If you were to enquire of my least and most favourable personality trait then anyone close to me would agree that I am one of the most stubborn people they know. If I decide I want something, I will stop at nothing to get it. My persistent obstinacy is my driving force, sometimes the only thing that gets me out of bed in the morning. Add to this the fact that nothing makes me crave something more than being told that I can’t have it and my stubbornness can suddenly become the bane of my life.
An example; French class - December 1991 - we have just received our mock GCSE results and the teacher is going round the class telling us how our percentage would translate as a grade. The girl next to me got 80%, congratulations, an A!
‘And Miss Elephant. What did you get?’
You know damned well what I got, you fucking battleaxe. You marked it.
‘Speak up!’
‘I said 21%!’
I can see her now, she was shorter than me and yet somehow she managed lean across my desk, look down at me and snigger. It was the only time I saw her smile. She shook her head,
‘No hope for you Miss Elephant. No hope.’
And that was it, she was already onto the next person.
So I went home and cried with humiliation and I cried a little more and then I heaved my head up from the pillow and went downstairs and told my mum that I wanted extra French lessons for Christmas.
I was not yet 16, I had my whole life in front of me and honestly believed that I could do anything if I truly set my mind to it. And all credit to my mum (who shares pretty much the same trait as me) when she found out the reason for my sudden penchant for languages, I got the extra lessons AND a Christmas present.
My final mark for GCSE French - an A but I nearly killed myself through overwork and some of my other grades suffered as a result and this is exactly what I mean when I say that my stubbornness can also be my bane.
My whole issue with getting old is that with each passing year I am forced to add something else to my long list of accomplishments that are never going to be realised. A few weeks ago we were watching the 100 metre sprint on the TV and I noticed that most of the athletes were a similar age to me, even younger.
‘I’m never going to be an Olympic gold medallist.’ I sighed.
‘But you never wanted to be one,’ he suggested before reminding me that we were watching the Commonwealth Games and not the Olympics.
‘Whatever it’s called. I want to be one, now it’s too late.’
‘Darling,’ he sniggered like my French teacher with perhaps just a little more affection, ‘You weren’t ever going to be an Olympic Medallist, gold or otherwise.’
And I didn’t go crying home to Mummy because I knew that even she’d admit defeat on this one. I could abandon everything, I could train every day for the rest of my life, I could swap one of my left feet for a right one, tame my clumsy flaying arms, get the next Messiah to work miracles on my lower back, whilst teaching me the difference between the Olympics and the Commonwealth, hell I’d even get anger management lessons so that I could bite my lip when the time comes to stand on that block and listen to ‘God Save the Queen‘, but I would STILL never win an Olympic medal. That gate is not only closed but the bolt is well and truly rusted into position - for time eternal.
So not only will I never have the opportunity to cultivate my sporting agility but I have to accept that it wasn’t going to happen anyway, not sixteen years ago, not now, not ever and with that acceptance comes a dull chipping away at my motivation not just for keeping fit but for everything else, both the good and the bad.
Bah! I never wanted to run anyway. That would involve getting off my arse. Pass me the coffee, the chocolate and the whisky, I can’t quite reach from here and while you’re there you might as well chuck us a couple of books and a pen.
Posted by purple elephant at 10:33 PM |
May 01, 2006
The 15 minute blogger?
Right now I’m fascinated by Buckminster Fuller, not for his invention of the geodesic dome, nor for his work on how humankind can continue to live on Planet Earth efficiently (although these accomplishments are nonetheless admirable) but mainly for the following fact,
Fuller documented his life every 15 minutes from 1915 to 1983, leaving behind 270 feet / 80 m worth of journals. He called this the Dymaxion_Chronofile. This is said to be the most documented human life in history.
Wow! Just wow! I take it this means every 15 minutes of his waking life, or did he wake himself up every 15 minutes during the night, only to document that he had been asleep? What with my current inability to update my blog even once every 24 hours, not to mention the fact that at the end of today I will have 3 months worth of Wheel of the Year photos to upload onto Flickr, I can’t help but to see this as a challenge. Of course I’m realistic enough to realise that I would never keep this up for the rest of my life but what if I did it for a whole day every now and then? It would be so utterly mundane and domestic at times, in the past 15 minutes for example, I have written this post whilst watching Fifi and the Flowertots and eating too many digestive biscuits but I think this is what he was getting at when he said,
If somebody kept a very accurate record of a human being, going through the era from the Gay’90’s, from a very different kind of world through the turn of the century — as far into the twentieth century as you might live. I decided to make myself a good case history of such a human being and it meant that I could not be judge of what was valid to put in or not. I must put everything in, so I started a very rigorous record.
For practical reasons in this modern age, it would probably have to be on paper first and then transcribed onto a blog at convenient times of the day. I have got enough on my plate at the moment but I can’t help being tempted and fascinated by the whole concept.
Does anyone else not think this the most idiotic and pointless task in the history of the world?
Posted by purple elephant at 08:27 AM |