Me, getting out of bed in the morning
Mercy, its cold. Whilst I have a nice view of the snow-smothered Sackville Park from the window of the flat, and the minus temperatures have driven the assorted hobos, teenage yobbos and their hoop-earring future-sows from their normal late-night drinking spots amongst the benches and AIDS beacon, the slippy surfaces and toe-killing temperatures are taking their toll on me. Combine said temperature with Adam's night-shifts and his understandable requirement to have all the blinds down so he can get some sleep in a morning and you have a situation where, upon waking up in bed, my newly-engaged senses are faced with a battle between the luxurious warmth of a double bed and a pitch black chamber of icy darkness. The pros and cons of snooze come to the fore.
For more reasons not to get out of bed, see the recent passing of Leslie Nielson. Sure, he was eighty-four but still not good when a dry comedy genius slips off the mortal coil. Instead of sticking some random clip from Youtube I will direct you to an excellent Guardian article with a biography as well as some great clips, including a kung-fu film - who knew?
The final blow has been the death of Adam's (nee, our) Playstation 3, which decided to kill itself and take the newly-bought copy of Fallout New Vegas with it. Why they don't have a manual drawer-release button like every other disc drive I don't know, so I am now faced with smashing the defunct console open to get the game back even though I can't play it (like smashing a coconut open to get the milk whilst being allergic to coconut milk), ask a shady friend of a friend to have a stab at repairing it and getting the disc out, or paying Sony £131.00 to get it all back but lose all saves, memories and digital good times that may be residing on the little fella's hard drive. This has also removed the ability to watch blurays from the Dance-Fisher compound, so a replacement must be found - somehow.
However, the Christmas markets are open (cheese soup not withstanding), hotdogs and tia-maria hot chocolate crap all over the rest of this miserable babble. Booyah.
