On succumbing to hype

Good godfathers...someone pinch me, I must be hallucinating or something.

Not only did I actually sit through the introductory edition of Celebrity Big Brother (a programme that is the televisual equivalent in it's pleb guise of used toilet paper), it turns out also that George Galloway is one of the celebrities.

Bloody hell...George Galloway: meets monstrous tyrants and says they're actually pretty cool guys regardless of the fact they have murdered or ordered the deaths of hundreds, thousands if not more people.

Michael Barrymore: young man goes to party at celebrity house, takes too many drugs, is brutally anally raped causing him serious injury despite being apparently hetero and winds up dead in the swimming pool.

It has been an odd sort of day, though. First of all it started off with the uberboss giving me the name and number of a guy who used to work for him who now works out of another guy's offices not five minutes down the road from me and telling me he is looking for an assistant, give him a call and introduce yourself. I mean - wtf?

Then I spend most of the day trying to persuade L not to go to a sleazy hotel with the uberboss after work and end up printing her the piddling directions off to get to the damn place.

Oh, and there was the client who threatened suicide...

Marvellous!

A definite chicken foo yung, chips and curry sauce day. Damn, I can't eat all of it now. I never could without feeling full, but now it really is quite painful. I was going to junk half the chips, but the bin had a load of crap on the lid, so I couldn't. Crap excuse, but there you go!