I have changed it.  Apparently I listen to what the people say and respond.  Who could have predicted that?
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Sharon: The Blue Shirt Years (Well, Day)
 
 
These days I work from home. Contrary to what Boris Johnson would have people think, that doesn’t mean I spend all day walking to the fridge to get some more cheese. If I wanted cheese I’d probably bring the whole lot and put it on my desk to save the trips. Of course, I could do that if I went to work too since I’m not an imbecile. I haven’t eaten any cheese since I started working from home (circa 2 weeks ago). Neither have I watched a single episode of Jeremy Kyle. I have eaten a whole jar of pickled onions since Sunday, but if that’s wrong I don’t want to live in a world that’s “right”.

So I’m not pigging out or watching trash tv, but there must be some weakness in my psyche that I succumb to when working from home (other than the pickled onion fiasco). After all, I’m not a superhuman. My brain runs with electrical impulses like a computer, but it’s soft and mushy like any other real living being. What’s my Achilles’ heel? I can tell you (since I know you won’t tell anyone) that my motivation to stay clean is pretty much gone. I mean, why bother with ablutions? It takes up precious working time! Now that I don’t commute I can work an extra 2 hours a day. Without showering or dressing properly I gain an extra 35 minutes (what? I like a long shower!) I would say that not washing is win/win, but…

I showered this evening for 2 reasons: first, I couldn’t honestly remember the last time I had washed. And (b) I could smell myself. For real.

A quote just for Petra: There’s a tramp in the house. Oh, the tramp is me.

Since this is my first political post (it references the Mayor of London) I am putting up a politically charged photo. Rebel.

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That means I now have a blog archive from another month!  I'm thinking of turning pro.  All I need now is to increase my actual blogging by around 3000% and find interesting stuff to say instead of this sort of drivel...

I decided, whilst in the shower the other morning, to be deeply offended by the lyric in the song from South Pacific: "There ain't nothing you can tame that is anything like a dame."  (For completeness, the song is There Is Nothing Like A Dame, and yes, I often sing late-1950's show tunes in the shower.)  I marched downstairs doing my very best Germaine Greer face at the indignation I was feeling from being compared to "something you can tame."

'So, I'm like a wild animal?' I asked David (in my non indoor voice).  David cleverly sensed a trap and didn't answer.  'How dare they!' Continued I, unperturbed, 'How dare they imply that a woman is something to be housebroken, to be leashed until "tame"!  I know it was the late-1950's, but how very dare they!'  (For full disclosure, I thought it was the 1960's, but I imdb'd it.)

I looked up the song online and it turns out the lyric is actually, "There is nothing you can name that is anything like a dame".  Subtle difference.  Sounds the same.  But fair play to them, they're factually correct, no problems here then.  I decided to withdraw my "decision to be offended", fortunately before releasing my anti-misogynistic rant on the interworld web via my blog.

I turned on my iPod and listened to some Whitesnake instead.  Slide It In album, I believe.
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There is nothing you can NAME that is anything like a dame. Now digitally remastered because there weren't enough versions of South Pacific already in the world and someone thought there should be more, just a tiny bit clearer.