...that my loo currently smells of toilet paper. Let me explain. Around here there's a fair chance your local corner shop is run by someone from either Pakistan or Poland. The one downstairs is "under new management" (meaning one of the guys who used to just hang around in there now spends his days hanging around behind the till instead) and after a few months with almost no stock, they recently refilled the shelves...with exactly the same items the previous owner used to sell. On my way home earlier this week I remembered I needed loo paper and since going back to the local supermarket needed to much effort on my part, I decided to pay the local shop a visit. They had about five different types, all made by a company in Birmingham (a little clue there) and every single one having some kind of fragrance. I prefer having some sort of standalone Ambi-Pur thing in there myself, instead of having both my loo and my bum having the same kind of dubious floral odour.

Speaking of bum, I have waded through the first series of Whose Line (UK) at last, and must point out that there is a vast difference between the first and the second series. The second looks much better and everyone seems much more at ease with the subjects and games (including the host, Clive Anderson, which helps.) Tony Slattery went rather quickly from being a slightly shy and polite first-time guest to a naughty and loud semi-regular, which was a bit of a disappointment (as a fan, I so want him to play nicely), and Greg Proops's first bumbling attempts were just cute. I am also slightly depressed about the fact that around the time this went out on air the first time, they were as old as I am now.

Speaking of which, my birthday is coming up, and I am celebrating this last day of my glorious twenties by watching Shark and Whose Line (and, later on, Ashes to Ashes), drinking water (I bought myself a Brita jug ("Fjord", naturally) so that we may start enjoying our own tap water), waiting for the bloody postman again (the Amazon Prime thing doesn't really work when Royal Mail "do a City Link" and claim they've tried delivering our parcels, grr!) and generally looking forward to the next week or so (going to see three shows) (different shows, even!)

I am really starting to enjoy The Big Bang Theory, so with my usual luck, I am anticipating it to fall flat on its nose and be dragged out of the TV schedule any time soon, just like with The Class (what were they thinking, cancelling that show?)

Yesterday I went shopping downtown. I don't enjoy shopping anymore because I have very little money to shop for, so I had a plan ready and was looking forward to a couple of hours in central London. However, it was rather on the chilly side of the scale, so I didn't really feel like walking around aimlessly. I did, though, for a while, and it took exactly five and a half seconds for one of those annoying people who work for some charity and want your money (I call them "The Direct Debit Folks") to grab hold of me. I am usually very strict and manage to say (in a ever so slightly more foreign accent than my usual one) that unfortunately I can't help out since I don't have an English bank account (the real reason is I'm already supporting a few charities and I quite frankly can't risk having more Direct Debits on my account because I may not be able to afford it every month), but this time I must have been in an extremely good mood (probably because I'd just hand-picked half a kilo of sweets from "that sweets shop" at the Trocadero) and eventually ended up both supporting the Samaritans and preventing the influx of one wanna-be ski tourist into Norway ("it's too expensive, don't go there".) Lucky me. At least I think they do great and important work, so that's fine by me.

I watched Senator Hillary Clinton on The Daily Show the other day, which was fun. Of course, the follow-up the next day was even funnier. And, speaking of Jon Stewart, I finally got to see the Oscars earlier in the week. It's weird, but every year, when I don't watch the show live, I am completely stressed out and threaten everyone around me with murdering them in their sleep if they so much as hint at who won what, before I can see the show for myself. I avoid all news shows and anything remotely related to film and entertainment on the web until I've watched the programme. This year, however, I said "sod it" to the whole thing and ended up not just forgetting it had been shown, but also completely avoiding any information (apart from Best Actor in a Leading Role) about the awards without any effort. Amazing. Still, I don't regretting previous years' panicky mood. After all, that was the one day a year when I could threaten my boss with hitting and kicking him where he would think I was only joking.

To end on a lighter note: Everyone must run out and buy the Spamalot CD! You have to hear The Song That Goes Like This.

Labels: award shows, comedy, current affairs, film, greg proops, personal, technology, TV