And, looking very relaxed, this week's band name...

..is 'Kipf Kipfler and the Awkward Potato Moment'.

Home

Evidently the product of my own personal Magrathea, the conversations run something like this:

ME: I adore you.
HIM: What?
ME: I adore you.
HIM: Erm... (Thoughtful pause) ..166 centimetres, I think.
Hang on, I'll get my licence.

Dear Universe, if you do anything to sod this up I'll be up there to kick you where it hurts.

Rough Action Women

So, let me get this straight. You could ski off your eyelashes into those baby blues. You're kind to your sister. You like cats. The phrase "King of Scurf" means something to you. You like your bacon crispy. You can use possessive apostrophes. You sing in the kitchen. You can imitate Ren and Stimpy. You have an inflatable Dalek in your spare room. Your friends are charming. You have friends. You don't want to take the broken tape deck out of your car because it's the original one. You like to travel. You have a Womble. You appear to fancy me just as much as I fancy you.

WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, BOY? Out with it!

Lifeline

I'm sorry. I should call.

It's not that I'm not interested,
I'm just such rubbish on the telephone,
particularly long-distance.

It's the trying to be articulate.
Even with the people I love the most.
The ones who know me anyway.

You should see the lengths I go to
to avoid talking to my relatives.

I'll write you a letter. I promise.
I do think of you.
All the time.

Genius.

See what we captioners have to put up with?

No offence to the sunny city of Darwin - an' no exaggeration, neither -
but they have the most
boring
bloody
news bulletin
in the world
nay, the universe.

It's only fun until the rest of you go home.
I don't care about Palmerston downing University in the local league,
I just want my tea!

Happy birthday, Lauren!