Harrassing you in the name of the Lord!

Yes. Another day waiting for the plumber. He didn't manage to make it yesterday, meaning that I not only had to spend the day at home grousing on Tuesday, but then had to miss a day out at the pub with my friends yesterday, and now I am missing a day out in the countryside with my dog. Today, he is due to arrive at 10.00. It's 11.00. I have already answered the door to a random man asking me a weird question and (of course) the door went again when I was on the toilet. Gah. As I came down the stairs in a hurry, trying to sort out my mad hair, I happened to spot a couple of people through the window in the door.... Jehovah's Witnesses!! I fled back upstairs and hid until they went next door.

What is it about those people that you can spot their religion just by looking at them? Isn't that odd? It's not because of their appearance. I mean, it's probably that they are knocking on your door at 11.00 in the morning (obviously the Jesus hour) so close to Easter. But sometimes you'll come home and spot them roaming the streets in packs. You just know. Sometimes they have that 'Watchtower' magazine, which by the way, you have to get at least once for the lesson in persuasive religious advertising. You can use it for teaching. It's the best thing ever.

I don't have an issue with their religion, or that they have one. It's just that they are bound by their religious choices to be at the 'sales' end of the religious spectrum and I feel bad about having to tell them I'm not interested in their religion (or any religion, for that matter. Equal opportunities and all that). If the Catholics came door to door, I'd run away from them too. The other weird thing about Jehovah's Witnesses is that I have heard that they believe there are only a certain number of places for Christians in Heaven. That doesn't really seem to tally in with the whole 'door to door' recruitment policy aspect of their faith. Is that true, I wonder... I have some internet research to do!

Scientologists! (Uh... Is that a religion? Do they think it's a religion? We'll assume yes for the purposes of today's post.) They peddle their faith. They do that weird stress test in the street. I must do that one day. What I find particularly odd is that they find it necessary to disguise the fact that they are Scientologists until it's too late. If you glance around the back of their little 'stress booth' table thing, there are loads of L Ron Hubbard books. Actually, I really must find out what the hell Scientology is all about. I bet it just gets better and better the more you browse. Once, The Pook and I were watching this programme about 'dolphin people' aliens starting life on Earth and this guy talking about these particular stars in the Solar system who made us die laughing. Several months later we discovered that this story appeared to form the basis of Scientology. Surely not! I'll have to check that, because it sounded so unbearably silly that I can't believe it was correct. Well, I say that, but it's probably one of the more likely stories of how a religion came about.

Sigh. Well I suppose I should prepare myself for the next arrival at the door. Probably representatives from major religions to beat me for my inflammatory comments about their origin stories. *cough* Look, I'm not in!

Grrrr. Today, I shall be mostly bitching about....

My bloody house is falling down around my ears. I am waiting for the plumber to arrive, the plumber is waiting for a pump to arrive, the pump delivery man is waiting to pull his finger out of his backside...no one's getting any younger here. It's been about six weeks since anyone had a hot shower here. It's been about four weeks since I had any kind of shower at my own house, I have to keep hurling myself on the mercy of others. I am so done with baths. I like to be clean when I have a bath, otherwise it's...you know...filth stew. And then you have to dunk your head in the bath to wet your hair. My stupid hair is really thick and we have this perversely small jug to use to pour water over your head. It's like the hair-washing jug FROM HELL!

As I am home for the holidays, not only do I have to be polite to the plumber, but also the four million delivery men that have elected that today IS the day to knock on the door while I am on the toilet and then as soon as the...uh...knocker (?) touches the door, they RUN!! I have had to chase nearly all of them down the garden path today. (That's not an intimate euphemism.) Plus, I am so sick of having to spell my surname. Not that I don't spell it naturally everytime I say it. I happen to be lucky enough to have a silent 'h' in my first name and a silent 's' at the end of my surname. What's the damn point in a silent letter? I'll tell you. So you have to spell your damn name every time you say it. And now that the delivery men have those automated boxes that you use a little plastic stylus to write on. I can't use those. My signature looks like it was created by some cloven-hoofed beast. Whilst you admire the monstrosity you've made, (imagining the people back at the delivery office: "Uh...Did a goat sign for this?"), you notice the horrendous misspelling of your name. Seriously, if my name really was 'Disco Stoat' (if only), the little signy box would read 'Dirty Scrote'. Duh!

As you may have noticed by my rather pretentious use of the term 'stylus' rather than my usual 'plastic poking device pen thing', I am seriously considering buying a DS lite. Not the pink one, which means a black one or a white one. Uh, I won't go on. I get very dull when considering a new purchase.

I've been suffering with this weird 2 hour insommnia thing I was starting to get while I was working. I always used to sleep with no problem at all, but now, I'll wake up at about 3 or 4 am and then be wide awake for the next two hours. It drives me insane. Not that being awake bothers me, it's just that when I go back to sleep, I wake up feeling (and looking) like an extra from 'Village of the Damned'. It happened this morning at about 5am and I got back to sleep at around 7am. Notably after the dog had come in and curled up on my bed. Then I had to get up and release him, easier said than done when one is moving in a zombie style without opening eyes.

It's so annoying being stuck in the house waiting for people. I was supposed to be meeting my friends for lunch and they're currently quaffing wine and enjoying themselves. Gnah. By the time the plumber finishes it will be late in the evening and there'll be no point in going. That said, I have made no effort to look nice. If I do get the chance to go out, I may or may not brush my teeth before then. Who knows. Might sort out my hair too, but I'm not promising anything. I experimented with putting my wayward hair into two french plaits last night. (I used to have a flatmate who could do this to her own hair perfectly, and since then it is on my list of things I want to do before I die. That and have a hot shower in my own house!) Anyhoo, it wasn't too bad for a first attempt. A little of the cloven-hooved beast at work about it, but we can't have everything. I did look interestingly like a double cornish pasty. Then I left it in while I was asleep. This morning's 'do is, if anything, more interesting than last night.

Yes. Interesting.