Week 176: handle like eggs
Found my jumper. Some people say “it’s always the last place you look” is the sort of pointless truism only a boring moron would trot out, but it’s true!
You know the “net promoter score”, where folks ask questions to which the answer is either “I need you to understand that people don’t have conversations where they randomly recommend [East Midlands Trains] to each other”, or “very likely [not really, but I don’t want the poor employees to get in trouble].”
But I search Twitter and actually people are randomly recommending bustimes.org to people. I could say something mean-spirited about it but I won’t – people find something useful, and want to share the useful thing, which is lovely.
As I was walking past Tesco Express, a lady laden with bags toppled over, oh no. I hesitated until someone else approached to help her up, and I’m afraid I just scurried away like I had somewhere important to be. (Thinking back to the fainting TalkTV political editor, of course I’d’ve run over to help if I was a mum like Liz Truss.)
Just hours later, I was bicycling along when suddenly the right handlebar snapped clean off and I landed cross-legged on the ground, bruised and grazed, sand in my mouth and my jumper torn. Oh what instant karma. Motor cars motored past, as it probably looked like I was meditating on the grass verge, but one did stop and kindly check I was OK, which I was after a fashion, and I gingerly pedalled home sort of one-handedly.
It was the old old bicycle, by the way. Who knows how old the handlebars were, and maybe whoever fitted them didn’t use a torque wrench, putting untold strain on the metal by over-tightening.
I’m sure you don’t want to hear about my swollen purple bum – I should have been quicker to sit on a bag of frozen brussels sprouts – woe unto me. What must the neighbours think of the moaning each time I get up or sit down or lean over in bed to reach a cup of tea.
🎦 In The Living Daylights, Timmy Dalton says “it must have scared The Living Daylights (1987) out of her”. There’s a box of fragile cargo marked “handle like eggs”, which apparently is a thing and is also written on something in Thunderball, which I’ll have to keep an eye on ITV4 for.
I had a tin of zesty pop to drink during Licence to Kill, so I waited for someone to open a can on-screen so I could open mine at the same time without the noise disturbing anyone. But there are no ring-pulls in the film. Bond orders a bottle of Budweiser with a lime, but he doesn’t get to drink it.
Sure you’ve already heard Nathan Fielder’s (from off of Nathan For You) The Rehearsal is something. The second episode was underwhelming, but after the third I feel silly for having had any doubts. There’s a New Zealandish torrent search engine that seems better than the famous Swedish one, I don’t know what everyone else uses these days.
I call women’s football “football” and men’s football “men’s football”. 👅