MezMondayMeme

1)What's the point?
If I get philosophical at this time of day (post prandial, only the prandial lasted from 1pm until 5.30pm and I am soooooo stuffed with food from one of the very best restaurants in the province, and there was cake - oh dear lord, the cake - and truffle crostini and blimey, but it was glorious and well worth putting up with the christening bit, even though I didn't because I stood outside the church in the rain, but now I am full, full, full, and will Never. Eat. Again...). Where was I? Oh, right, not in a field, but digressing and parenthesising in a manner that does no one any good. Yes. The point. The only point I can think of that isn't philosophical and would not lead me into discourses on the Long Dark Teatime Of The Soul and perhaps send me heading under the table with my hood up, as it is that kind of day and time, I'm afraid, is Harry Nilsson's The Point. If you haven't heard it, all the way through, or watched it on DVD or on YouTube, you really ought to, for it is a thing of great beauty and the first time I heard Me and My Arrow, I was about five or six and I sobbed my heart out about Oblio and his only friend, his dog. Oblio, the kid without a point, in a place where everything had a point and the point was the point...Oblio was, in fact, pointless. Meh. Perhaps I invest it with more significance than it has? Fool. Oh well, it is a lovely and come to think of it, quite philosophical in its own way, cartoon, and yet another good reason for forgiving Harry Nilsson for that awful Without You warbling.

2)Does anybody really care any more?
Hmmm. About what? I care about several things, and a select number of people, passionately, but those are things in the Wonderful World of Me, which isn't actually that wonderful, but it has its good points, and there are lots of fields... Aside from the me-centricity of things, then...do people care? I think they do, I just think a lot of them are having trouble articulating that or they think that clicking the Like button on a Facebook page is enough to show that they do, when it isn't really, but what else can we do? Is there any point (see #1 and the not wanting to get into philosphical discourse, which I actually started writing yesterday, hence references to lunch and I am still full)...

3)We'll all be eaten alive by zombies soon enough anyway, won't we?
I am armed for the Zombie Invasion! I have a large chainsaw and several shovels...And a pickaxe! It does not matter that I cannot start said chainsaw because of a lack of upper body strength and chainsaws being made for people with big muscular shoulders, not me. Damn. If the zombies come, they can just turn the key in the front door - which is where I leave it, even when I go out to the shop or to school, or even to sleep - and come in and devour me at my desk, while I am wasting my day watching youtube and the beeb busy slaving...
My sister was a zombie. Seriously. A very good one. She was an extra in Shaun of the Dead and got to eat a foot. Ewww. Feet. I hate feet, but that's another story.

4)Makes you wonder why we even fucking bother to GET UP in the morning, doesn't it?
[Mez, lovely,it looks like you've got a bit of a doom-meme thing going on here... ]
I know why I get up in the morning. The Child has to have breakfast, only the local supermarket is out of milk chocolate Digestives and I don't know how this could have happened because we are the only ones I have ever seen buying them, so breakfast is a bit fraught and grumpy, with fights over the cartoon of choice (I hate SpongeBob, but never more than at 7am) and me trying to down as much caffeine as possible and wondering what on earth Child can wear that isn't too creased (ironing mojo has been lost somewhere, I am hoping it isn't permanent). Once clothing has been sorted, kind of, hair brushing has been argued about and one or both parties has had a bit of a strop about the lateness of the hour and the non-readiness of the other party, then there is the Walking of The Child To School, accompanied by Stupid and His Even More Stupid Friend (the dogs) and then...another fraught trip to the local shop to get The Child's breaktime snack sorted (currently, she is on a custard doughnut jag but only eats half and the rest leaves a horrible mess somewhere in the bottom of her rucksack) and hope that they aren't selling meat or slicing ham at that particular moment, because they aren't very good at washing their hands in between times and I do not want salmonella, or for The Child to come back with the umpteenth snack uneaten "because it tasted like ham, and I don't like ham." Ham and custard doughnut? Eww. Other people don't seem to mind this, but at least now them there people in the shop let me go behind the counter and get my own bread!
A cappuccino at Emilio's is then of the essence, plus another five-minute petition for the planting of sunflowers in "my" field. Request denied, but I am not giving up so easily.
And basically, all of the above is why I bother getting up in the morning. Because I have to. I am working on reasons for actually staying up...Maybe the zombies will help with that one...

5)Can you pass the brown sauce?
I can. Thanks to friend who is Very Good Friend indeed, I possess a catering size bottle of HP! They also sell it (sometimes) amongst the exotic foods in the supermarket, along with Sunpat (smooth - eugh) peanut butter at over a fiver a jar! They have not reached the heights of northern supermarkets, though. The lovely Mez tells me that the exotic foods section in her local one has baked beans. *Dies a little from envy*

Have a Frank...Actually, not a Frank as such, but near enough.