Friday, May 09, 2003

Daddy told me look into the future, sit at your computer, be a good girl...

Well Daddy, that's what I'm doing, but frankly I just appear to be developing all-new ways of wasting my time. You didn't think that one through very clearly, did you?

Yes, it's yet another late evening and the bored Panda is waiting for the uncut Buffy rerun. The Panda is also dead impressed that the mighty Mr Popjustice has seen fit to link to this blog on his site. A few people whom I don't appear to know have also done this. So I say a hearty thank you to one and all. Unfortunately, this now leaves me with the pressure of making regular and interesting updates, a task I fear I will fail on both counts.

On the subject of blogging, it's come to my attention that my blog is rather plain and dull-looking with rather a lot of wasted screen space. I have also noticed that a lot of other blogs published on are, to put it bluntly, not. Being as I am not terribly au fait with modern technology (unless I'm trying to search for naked pictures of Sparx Triple 8), I would appreciate it if anyone wanted to tell me ways I could brighten up the site with sidebars and stuff. Suggestions and bamboo stalks to, if you'd be so kind.

Wednesday, May 07, 2003

I like to move it move it, I like to move it move it, I like to move it move it, I like to - move it!

I really wish that the above were true. Yes, it's approaching that time when those former students amongst us are approaching the ends of our tenancy agreements and finding ourselves moving house again. This has involved the Crumb (flatmate of the Panda) spending a lot of her work hours scouring the internet for mans with vans. Or possible men with ven, whatever the plural of that is. And so far it's not looking good - we're veering dangerously close to bankruptcy trying to get one. So if any of my regular readers (that's both of you) knows someone who lives in London, is over 23, and free to drive a van on a Thursday, you'd really be helping us out.

In other news, I had a listen to One True Voice's new single last night after sheer morbid curiosity got the better of me. And - quelle surprise - it's hideous. Awful sub-80s production with weak vocals and laughable lyrics. Bye boys - it was never going to work, was it? Still, you've got time to be "serious musicians" now, I remember that meant so much to you.

And before I sign off, The Panda would like to state his full support for Pete Burns Week, running currently on So go out and buy You Spin Me Round 2003 by Dead Or Alive and let's have no more of this silly number 19 in the midweeks business.

Saturday, May 03, 2003

Good Lord, another bank holiday weekend. Once again I find myself in my best trackie bottoms trying to clean the flat and being distracted by Kirsty's Home Videos.

Well, of course, it's been ever so long since the last blog update, and my life has been one long Martine McCutcheon song, obviously. I'm married now - who knew? Yep, the lovely Michael, who can be found at Gareth's Love Pavillion, has insanely consented to be my totally-not-grounded-in-law internet husband. I couldn't be prouder. Our children, Ainslie and Cheryl, are now as legit as they're ever likely to be. Try it for yourself!

And I've started yet another doomed campaign to get buff. Watch me fail - what fun! But seriously, I want tits like Josh Rafter's by the time I'm 24. So if I don't start going to the gym soon, the only other option is steroids.

My life is also being plagued by involuntary actions: flipping the bird whilst listening to No Good Advice by the mighty Girls Aloud, screaming "You rock KC!" at the TV when Mile High is on, and reciting the rap from Madonna's American Life, screaming "I'd like to express my extreme point of view/I'm not a Christian and I'm not a Jew" in such a way as will doubtless scare the neighbours.

Regular readers of this blog (i.e. me) will notice that I often consider myself a rather useless person. This was confirmed in irrefutable terms today when I managed to give myself a fat lip with a shopping trolley. This should not happen to a man of 22. Or me, for that matter.