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Went to help my da reattach a register plate (a sheet of metal between a flue and a wood-burning stove). For the rest of the day I had an interesting taste in my mouth, and when I blew my nose later all black stuff came out, so maybe burning things is bad? Anyway, the taste has subsided now, leaving the taste of the salt on the roads you taste when you go outside at this time of season, even though I’m not licking the roads I’m just breathing.
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🎦 Ferrari. (Ha ha I thought it was about the LBC breakfast show presenter.) For a film about fast driving it starts a bit slow, then I cried a bit (first time this year). Surprisingly the Italian accents don’t feel silly.
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Poor Things. Obviously amazing, but I disliked it, maybe due to having a headache and stuff.
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To Mark Watson at the Diss Corn Hall, a lovely time. Then a brisk 20-minute walk to wait in the cold at the desolate railway station, where they lock the toilets and waiting room etc at 19:30 the bastards, and there’s not even a vending machine on the platform or anything. (Should have run like the wind to catch the earlier train, or waited in a pub.)
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I was an interested follower of the Post Office Horizon scandal years ago, before it went mainstream, subscribed to the Computer Weekly RSS feed. (Didn’t manage to watch much of the recent ITV drama, because I’ve become the worst sort of snob I used to hate and it’s not as well-written as The Wire or something.) Anyway, the Post Office were the first users of Qmatic, the disembodied voice that announces “cashier number three, please”, whose brilliance becomes clear when you queue somewhere without it (CeX) … my point is, oh how the mighty have fallen.