Hooky Thursday

Because my eyes are feeling fuzzy and I am tired of writing long emails about how professional and organised, and what my strengths are, and why I am so adept at multi-tasking and client interaction, I have decided it is Hooky Thursday.

Hooky Thursday started last Thursday, after the horrifically foul journey across Skytrain to Burnaby to clear my freight which appeared in a warehouse. Hurrah! Not so hurrah after the mean old customs lady took a power trip on her high horse. Which resulted in me having to persuade her to accompany me to my pallet and open my boxes in order to get proof I have been out of the country for the last 9 years. But anyway, I digress. Because that is another story. Because The Pirates have lost my incredibly heavy and incredibly large table. And bed frame. Somewhere between London, Sheffield, the fucking ocean and Montréal.

And so, Thursday started off as any other morning, luckily there were no interviews which was a good thing as after my disastrous interview with the Intellectuals I had started crying on the bus on my way home, desperately homesick for London and feeling not unlike a worthless unemployed homeless, albeit fabulously shoe'ed, failure.
Yes.
Crying. Real tears.
Me.

And so en route to purchase a new bike lock,I just keep walking.
Down Burrard and past Canadian Tire. Onto Cornwall. And finally, the beach. Flipflops in hand, and the perfect spot. Hooky Thursday is born. (As is a fantastic case of sunburn, British mentality et al. My shoulders are still a lovely shade of "Ouch Crimson")

So today is Hooky Thursday will involve a bike ride to Stanley Park, and as it has been raining, most likely no beach stops. Sadly. But I encourage you all to put down what you are doing and play Hooky every Thursday. Even if it is only for a few moments.

So before I head out, helmet in hand and a prayer that I shall not fall off said bicyclette, a few things I have been reading.

Anna wrote a great post a few weeks back, which is worth re-reading, if only to stir up a bit of debate. I have to admit I was really surprised at the flippancy some people admitted to. Is this really what our society has come to?

Also Léonie directed us to this, which riled quite a few of the GLoWB's and made my blood in particular boil. And then I had to laugh, as Ms Reid suggests that tattoes are a form of self harm and I realised the tattoo on my ankle covers a self harming scar. Now that, that, I find ironic.

The Graudian launches its World Cup Podcast - how excited am I by the World Cup? Far too much apparently. Go Ennngerrrland. Yes. England. I shall not tell my Welsh parents or my Canadian amigos.

And Ben and Tony are back where they are best.
On the ice. Doing icy things. With ice and snow.

And so tomorrow's great feast, if I get back to my little abode in one piece, will be all about firemen and how I am turning into the crazy cat lady, why I love protestors, the decision on those 2 jobs where offers are apparently about to be made, and how I lost my temper for the first time in years and learnt a new swear word in the pouring rain. And how there are some hot painters in the hallway... hopefully I shall not be overcome by the noxious paint and have to call the firemen whilst holding my wailing cat...