Bear blog

The Head of Library Academic Services just came up to my desk looking very sheepish and quietly asked me for his PIN number...and whether I could tell him what his user ID was...and how he actually logs on to the system.

His apologetic explanation was that he "[doesn't] really use libraries very much."

*rolls eyes*

Just been to the cinema to watch Run Fatboy Run. A film with no punctuation.

The film itself wasn't great; being a reasonably trite, colour inside the lines, watered-down for Americans, Simon Pegg good idea gone bad type of thing. It was agonisingly predictable and lacked the furious satire that Pegg is best at. The only saving graces were Dylan Moran being a slightly less sweary version of himself and a couple of half funny on-the-hoof television reporter lines right at the end that made me crack a smile. For the most part it was distinctly average.

Which is fine. You can't win them all.

What made the experience completely terrible was the cinema environment. I don't know whether you've ever been to see a 12a rated film on a Sunday afternoon in an out of town entertainment complex with easy links to the local council estates, but it's not a particularly pleasant thing to do.

To be fair, only a few of the swarming spotty teenagers (who incidentally weren't accompanied by an adult and looked distinctly *under* the age of twelve) had the affront to wander in and out of the room chatting amongst themselves during the film, and there was only the one incidence of anyone carrying out a telephone conversation. What aggravated me the most was the ubiquitous fat slag sat in the chair behind me who felt the need to jiggle bits of herself mercilessly throughout the entire two hours of the film at a frequency of oscillation which I'm sure could only have been achieved through the act of violent (though thankfully quiet) masturbation.

The overall experience has left me rather disinclined to visit the cinema again for a while. I think I've certainly reached a point in my life that no 12a rated film, no matter how hyped, is worth two hours in a confined space with people I haven't pre-vetted.

I dreamed a had a willy last night. It was marvellous. Proportionately sized, in possession of a certain delicate, feminine charm, and with no silly extra appendages. And above all asexual, although I did put a condom on it and wander around the place. But show me a woman who wouldn't. I awoke in the midst of a contemplation of having been cheated out of something.

On a related note, the she-weeing is going terribly well. I have successfully ascertained optimum angle and trajectory and have begun to practice with trousers on. Wonderful stuff.