Death by mockery

I feel rather swamped. Perhaps because I am.

This evening was an interview skills affair at school. Interview practice, in short. Louise's Dad was doing some interviewing, and hers was (with someone else, called Dr Christmas. I colour to admit, I giggled) early on. I was looking for Mikey, and she for Elliot. Then we discovered that they had both gone, so we decided we would follow suit. Her Dad was still interviewing away (very well, I might add) so I offered a lift home. She lives nowhere near to my house as I thought. I got lost on the way home, and had to call her from a library car park. I now realise where I was, but had no idea at the time. Regina Spektor kept me calm.

As I type, the bell on my desk, the kind you imagine on the reception desk in Fawlty Towers, attempts to sound. It's most odd.

My words-underlined-with-a-red-squiggle count is now up to four. Werhayy.

Anyway, as I adverted to before, I have much to do. So anon.

Andante in Db

Twitter + Wordle =

My delightful Easter is over, much to my chagrin. I went to see Mikey in the Lakes for a day, and climbed Skiddaw. A play at FLT, a dinner party. Rather good, all in all.

I seem to have lost the facility for prosaic verbal effusion, thanks to twitter. All my words want to come out as snippets suitable for a Tweet. This must be rectified with haste.

Mechanisms of chemical reactions are calling: we expect a surprise test in chem tomorrow. God, she's evil. Can one expect a surprise test?

Oh, and I passed by driving test. There is much more smugness behind that sentence than you can see.

I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with C...

CAKE! Crispy cakes, chocolate chunk cookies. All in all, a good baking session, even if Dr Oetker's icing did fail us. The Backstreet Boys served as a perfect background to our Delia-inspired all-in-one sponge "]. Our cookies combined forces to form two giant supercookies. And as crispy cakes can't go wrong, they were flawless.

Fuck you, Dr Oetker

However, we have found that Delia isn't as saintly as we all thought: the first F in her index is "Faggots and peas." We'll give her the benefit of the doubt on that one, though.

This is mine and Kath's amazing cake.

Amazing, non? Bien sure (j'adore le franglais.) We really have baking skills, as an article I was reading yesterday would have put it.

<poorhumour> What a mess! And I got the oven glove dirty  HAHAHAA </poorhumour>.

I wish I could carry on, with more of the wonderful pictures we took, and details of the jollies we had. But I need sleep. Perhaps on the morrow.