Lime daquiri? Certainly Sir.
Would you like a flick of the hair with that, or a drunken leer?
Friday, May 16, 2008
Steve Aldridge in the mix
Lime daquiri? Certainly Sir.
Would you like a flick of the hair with that, or a drunken leer?
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Ten things I like right now
- Guy Garvey's Finest Hour on BBC 6 Music
- Talk Talk's Inheritance and Simple Minds' New Gold Dream - proper 80's music
- The First Post - that new online newspaper. (It's better than the Huffington Report)
- Fab - the only ice lolly worth buying in bulk
- Walking the dogs in the evening, bottle of beer in hand and pooh bag at the ready
- Dorset Cereals fruit, nut and seeds - the only breakfast I can swallow
- It being warm enough again to wear my Birkenstocks
- The Paul Smith sale in Floral Street - bargains ahoy!
- The NICE electric car - because it is
- John Lewis, Waitrose and Greenbee - because they do it right
Monday, July 02, 2007
Friday, April 27, 2007
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Drugs? Ta.
It's true that our industry is packed to bursting with drug-fuelled crazies hell-bent on finding the latest thrill with which to stimulate synapses already snapping like a West End bouncer’s knuckles.
In DS-J’s case, the drug of choice is tea. More specifically, the lightly-flavoured, high-tannin, caffeine-riddled sawdust in a bag known on the street (and pretty much everywhere else) as PG Tips.
Some users can drink as many as six cups a day – more if we’re putting the hours in. In more hierarchical environments this can have unfortunate effects on key worker productivity. However, with DS-J being a collaborative, ‘Go Team!’ kind of place, the tea making duties are shared by all, following a simple system: whoever has the most pressing work displacement requirement gets the round in.
The half-ten order is the biggest of all, with virtually every hand being raised to the single character enquiry, ‘T?”. This normally takes at least ten minutes to deliver every hit. But the desperate looks of gratitude and verbal affirmation of your status (‘star’, ‘hero’, ‘lifesaver’) are reward enough for your efforts.
By mid-afternoon heavier users, with whom I shamefully include myself, combine their tea fix with almost lethal quantities of another, even more insidious addictive substance, known as ‘cake’.
Most users bring their own supplies, carefully wrapped in silver foil. Extensive testing, often at the risk of my own straining waistline, have proven that the cakes that produce the most powerful effects are squidgy chocolate brownies, from Nigella Lawson’s ‘How to be a Domestic Goddess’. Yum.
Some people can’t take their tea at all, but try to run with the crowd by askichamomileeppermint or camomile or something else that smells better than it tastes. They are below contempt, only above those who favour artificial sweeteners.
Others go off at the deep end and refuse to add milk. This foolhardy approach stains the mugs and is also an ugly indicator of what’s happening inside our bodies. As with all addicts, we would rather not know the self-damage we’re inflicting.
A few words of warning for anyone considering extensive tea use. In addition to the loss of time and exposure to stronger drugs (like cake), users should be aware of tea’s diuretic properties, so factor in the logistical issues caused by more frequent bathroom visits. And beware DMBU (Dead Mug Build Up) on your desk, which puts phones, keyboards, and this week’s issue of ‘Heat’ at risk from cold residue spillage.
Now, anyone fancy a cuppa?
In DS-J’s case, the drug of choice is tea. More specifically, the lightly-flavoured, high-tannin, caffeine-riddled sawdust in a bag known on the street (and pretty much everywhere else) as PG Tips.
Some users can drink as many as six cups a day – more if we’re putting the hours in. In more hierarchical environments this can have unfortunate effects on key worker productivity. However, with DS-J being a collaborative, ‘Go Team!’ kind of place, the tea making duties are shared by all, following a simple system: whoever has the most pressing work displacement requirement gets the round in.
The half-ten order is the biggest of all, with virtually every hand being raised to the single character enquiry, ‘T?”. This normally takes at least ten minutes to deliver every hit. But the desperate looks of gratitude and verbal affirmation of your status (‘star’, ‘hero’, ‘lifesaver’) are reward enough for your efforts.
By mid-afternoon heavier users, with whom I shamefully include myself, combine their tea fix with almost lethal quantities of another, even more insidious addictive substance, known as ‘cake’.
Most users bring their own supplies, carefully wrapped in silver foil. Extensive testing, often at the risk of my own straining waistline, have proven that the cakes that produce the most powerful effects are squidgy chocolate brownies, from Nigella Lawson’s ‘How to be a Domestic Goddess’. Yum.
Some people can’t take their tea at all, but try to run with the crowd by askichamomileeppermint or camomile or something else that smells better than it tastes. They are below contempt, only above those who favour artificial sweeteners.
Others go off at the deep end and refuse to add milk. This foolhardy approach stains the mugs and is also an ugly indicator of what’s happening inside our bodies. As with all addicts, we would rather not know the self-damage we’re inflicting.
A few words of warning for anyone considering extensive tea use. In addition to the loss of time and exposure to stronger drugs (like cake), users should be aware of tea’s diuretic properties, so factor in the logistical issues caused by more frequent bathroom visits. And beware DMBU (Dead Mug Build Up) on your desk, which puts phones, keyboards, and this week’s issue of ‘Heat’ at risk from cold residue spillage.
Now, anyone fancy a cuppa?
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