So the Scottish referendum is coming up and there is panic in several political camps. I am not interested. I suppose I should be, but I’m not. It has been suggested at the office however that we might have a Scottish themed dress up day on referendum day. Now that would be fun. I’ve never worn a kilt. I consider myself to be about a quarter Scottish. I think everyone has to wear a kilt at least once before we die.
I keep meaning to write about Tony Blair being announced GQ “philanthropist of the Year”. My own theory here is that someone was actually trying to name him “psychopath of the year” and the spell checker loused it up, but it is also possible of course that the Narcissistic, power-drunk, scum-sucking bottom feeder paid someone off at GQ. In any case, it seems akin to commending Dracula’s sterling work for the Blood Transfusion Service. The Telegraph points out that the Tony Blair Faith Foundation is about to be investigated by the Charity Commission for alleged irregularities. The Independent notes that the backlash towards GQ has done them no harm. Incidentally, I’d personally be ashamed if a photo of me showed up in the national press wearing a bow tie I hadn’t tied myself. Mr Blair apparently has no problem being seen with a clip-on children’s tie.
The Duchess of Cambridge is pregnant again. I suppose that’s good news. I rather like Kate and William. I’m sorry, I’m still a republican, though not in the American political sense.
Last night I scored 91 pts with a single word with a single word “goodlier” at scrabble. I was playing against the boy’s iPad at Advanced level. I still didn’t win.
There is a bit of a carnival atmosphere at the office as I write this. James has discovered a site for downloading illegal movies. Paul is showing everyone his ice bucket video, Steve is dancing because he’s about to go on holiday, and our office manager is email shouting at everyone because there was a cockroach in the fridge. Turns out she can’t spell cockroach incidentally.
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