Slow tumble into tiredness today. Little to recommend the day, which makes me feel irritated. I don't like nothing days. Work unspeakable. Commuted, and wrote random poem. Life better at home: messaged lovely MJ and cooked spaghetti.

A while ago Phil came over to my desk at work and said "will you look after this" to me, handing me a piece of paper. On looking at it I discovered he had typeset "this" on it. Sadly that sort of thing makes me laugh hysterically.

A few days later in the bar, he thoughtfully stuffed about a hundred similar pieces into my wallet. Fumbling in my wallet for a credit card in Marks & Spencer yesterday one of these came to hand. I offered it to the cashier, "do you take this ?" which I at least found funny. Telling Andy about it today he suggested that we should launch a credit card called "this" and promptly mocked one up on his mac. Then we decided to steal the idea from Phil and not cut him in. You read it first here!

Glum random poem:

070305/evidence

Nothing has been sedimented.
There are no ammonites in me
To be slowly chipped from the rocks
With their blind chambers full of stone;

No sign of something having died.
There's nothing stern; it's soft tissue
A single-chambered heart, perhaps,
Nothing but a fold in cold time.