Tuesday, February 15, 2005

All The Small Things

All The Small Things

Turns out that my recent reading of various broadsheets to prepare for the inevitable 'have-to-get-a-job' reality which is fast looming hasn't be thorough enough. Clearly I should have recognised that my spiritual home is the Whitby Gazette and kept a look out for jobs there. Sure enough it turns out that they were looking for a trainee reporter and I've missed the deadline. Of course I know that in reality this isn't the job I'm looking for, it's a bit of a career commitment for someone who has already decided that their future hopefully lies elsewhere. And it's in Whitby, which even by my travelling standards isn't a do-able commute from where I live. But it's the Whitby Gazette. I'm sensing that you're probably not feeling my pain, so I'll move on.

New Housemate has struck again. Fridge storage space has never been something of an issue, but it seems to have become yet another venue in which New Housemate can fail to integrate himself into current routines. Currently the fridge is over-flowing with various crap, and, most annoyingly, out of date crap. When there's limited space I think that it's only fair to remove anything out of date from the fridge. Indeed even when there is enough room to house the entire contents of Iceland I think it's pretty much standard practise to remove anything that has a likely change of giving you e-coli. Maybe I'm just fussy about that sort of thing, but it seems pretty logical to me. Clearly though this isn't a belief which New Housemate subscribes to. Neither does he subscribe to the belief that when space is limited there has to be some order of priority for what actualy goes into the fridge. I'm sure that everyone likes cold drinks, but having two bottles of dilute drinks in there is going a little far when you've already got cans of beer, two loaves and dubious other items using up precious space. I'm sure that wars have been waged over less serious issues.

As a final random note, read Festen, the play which Drama Tutor has been raving about for weeks, last night. And, because I think that - his Pinter infatuation aside - Drama Tutor is a pretty sound source of theatrical opinion, I'd been expecting something rather wonderful. But I'm not sure. It was very tight I agree but it didn't grab me as being anything outstandingly brilliant. I'd already planned to go and see it in a couple of weeks time as I'm in London to see Fox do a gig at The Bedford and had worked out that I might as well treat myself to a play whilst I'm there, so I'm going to have to see if the production changes my mind. But it was a little disapointing I confess.

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