Human Rights, Human Wrongs

At work, I've been sent a copy of the Ministry of Justice's new publication, Making Sense of Human Rights. Unsolicited. Anonymously. I've got to worry about my reputation at work if someone thinks that I'm likely to break any of the following articles: right to life, prohibition of torture, prohibition of slavery, right to marry, etc. Oh well. Probably time to disband the forced-labour factory I've got going on in the basement, producing humorous parody books based on popular bestselling books. The nation will now sadly not be receiving such satirical thought-free gifts for its birthday as My Autobiogwaffy by Russell Braahnd or the significantly less harrowing A Child Called Twit by Dave Bestselzer. It's political correctness gorn maaad.

Me vs Pigeons

The pigeons have struck back in the ongoing battle for supremacy between featherless, hygienic me and the fearful filthwings. I arrived at work. I picked up a parcel addressed to Nicola Kirkham, c/o me. I wandered into my room thinking, not unfairly, "Who the bloody hell is Nicol Kirkham?" What I wasn't thinking was, "Hello pigeons, how have you enjoyed your time flapping round the office, you disgusting evil beasts?" That's what I should have been thinking, because there were two sickeningly fat and barely able to fly pigeons crashing about. I had to get someone with a stick to help me guide them out of the window. I'm not used to helping pigeons without using the Swift Hammer of Merciful Death, so it was a slightly strange experience for me.

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In brief Evening Standard headline news, I saw one the other day that looked like it might just be a new indie band advertising their new album (available on CD and download from iTunes from Monday):

Missing Internet Girl: New Pictures

(Come to think of it, she can't actually be all that missing if they have new pictures of her. I'm not going to buy the Standard to find out though; they're not going to get me that way, oh no).