Over this week I have kept away from work, under the pretence that my illness was so awful that I couldn't possibly work for the midweek solus evening shifts. I've wanted a lazy week, and I've thankfully had one. It's been very pleasant. I certainly don't miss the prospect of heading back to work for the weekend.
My hair was cut in the recent past, maybe even as recently as a few days ago! My hair was getting quite long, to the point of some of it curling at the back. I liked this. Every time I woke up, I'd have a different strand of hair pointing in a direction you wouldn't expect it to. Since its chopping, I believe I look a little generic. I admit, I miss my scruffy hair. I will have to wait patiently for it to grow again.
A few days ago, while around Enfield, I finally bothered to take a picture of the mint green Lara Croft. She is chained outside the "House Of Pine" during the shop's opening hours, and has remained outside the shop for the last three, four years. The varied temperatures have obviously worn her down to terrifying colours. The shop has no redeeming qualities past this Lara Croft; its pine items are expensive. I am not sure how the shop remains open but I believe Lara has something to do with it.
On Wednesday, I watched House of the Dead and Resident Evil: Apocalypse. You may have seen my review of the former in an earlier post and I stand by it - best awful film I've seen, an absolute travesty and taken two hours of your life you're never getting back. However, I have heard Death will take pity on anyone who watches this travesty, and give them an extra day of living as a result of the awful sensations they had to suffer. Isn't that nice? The latter was obviously better - it was actually so much better that it was a good good. I mean, it could have been better - the film used too many jumpy sequences to scare you, rather than real terror. Not too many characters were ones you'd care about either, the token slapstick character being a bit... cheesy. Anyway, to not go into a series review I'll deviate to one fun scene I remember especially. It involves a classroom of zombie kids leaping onto and eating a woman. Now, how fun must that have been to act? I wish I had an opportunity like that at a young age, to "eat the limbs" from a person and get paid for it. And then, of course, grow up a well-rounded individual.
Just before I headed to London with Jamie on Thursday, I had a quick check of my friends' page. A problem occurred, but it was such a beautiful problem I had to printscreen it and show it off.
I met a friend of Jamie's in London; around Camden, in fact. His name was Zac and he had the same style of hair I used to. I have learned that I may have little to no sense of the term generic these days, as a result. He was a very pleasant person and I have now learned a few more in-jokes to do with Jamie, which I shall take advantage of in the future to annoy her.
I ended up being stuck around Camden for so long, that I actually bought some clothes. I have returned from London with a brown and tan striped jumper. I also now own a black pinstriped t-shirt from Cyberdog that is very figure-hugging - a top they claim they can't get any more stock of. This means I may end up resolving this by acquiring the next size up of the same t-shirt online, before stating that they sent me the wrong size and asking for a refund or a credit note or something. Or something like that. I'll work something diabolical and backhanded out. I'm actually a very good plotter.
There is more to write, but it's very late and I'm keeping Jamie awake by having no ability to type this post up quickly. And it's not like anyone out there's been screaming out for an in-depth review of The Producers. But it was very entertaining. If you're near enough and curious enough to want to see it, go for it. Everyone who I watched the performance with agreed if we had the chance to watch the show again from the same seats for the same price we'd jump at the chance. And these were balcony seats so high you could take someone out with a fifty pence piece.
But I did walk past Jesus around Covent Garden on Thursday afternoon. Admittedly, it was the Jesus from the Jerry Springer Opera. He gets a fun set of roles. After the interval, he's the son of God. Before the interval, he's a guy who gets turned-on by dressing as a baby and soiling his nappy. I nearly wished him 'good luck' for the performance he was about to make, but I didn't. Might have been a good thing really; I'm not theatre-savvy and after listening to The Producers, forgot you're meant to tell them to break a leg or something. So long as it's not Macbeth's or something. Damned superstitious actors.