Work has become good again after I'd been going through a mid-job crisis of sorts. The thing is, I write down what people say on a weird-looking machine. And the other part is, if someone is ordering and paying for it, I create full transcripts of the things people say. And that it is it. The intellectual stimulation (per se) is limited and that's putting it mildly.

BUT! I love the Old Bailey with my whole heart. Stenographers WILL be replaced by digital recording; that much is definite, and they are getting close to setting a date. But it shouldn't be for a year, and even though I HOPE IT WILL BE RIDDLED WITH DISEASE I will probably wait until then to panic about my long-term future career.

I'm in a brilliant trial at the moment as this woman just *will not* stop strangling people! With ligatures. It'll be interesting when she gives evidence next week and she's sat five feet away from me, with only a long microphone cord between us...

:S

This evening Jenn and I are hosting another party and this time the theme is the 90s. I thus stayed in last night (in favour of going to Swaparama, for shame!) to make posters for the living room. I've recreated the following in artistic (ahem) form: B*Witched, Mr Blobby, Alex Mack, Scatman John, a Furby and the Spice Girls. Any other bright ideas then message me up yo'. It's not too late.

We'll be playing 90s Europop but of course. Even Whigfield's sluttier song, 'Think of You', which contains the ever so charming lyric, 'I need you inside me tonight,' which, from the context of the rest of it, means exactly what it says on the tin. Her parents must be so proud.

I'm going as Timmy Mallett and therefore the probability of any romantic action has actually gone into negative integers. I should have planned like Jenn and sought out some Geri Halliwell clobber circa her Union Jack dress days. Dammit.

previous | next