I Ain't Afraid of No Daleks

I want to make it clear that I'm not leaving bcuk right away...it will take me awhile to build a new blog site...and I'll still have the roasting dt blog, on here, probably.

Well, it's a bitter cold morning on my side of the pond...minus 9 F...that's minus 22 C, by the way. Brrr! I had to set my thermostat all the way up to 78 F, just to get it to be 64 F, in here! It was 52 F in my bedroom, when I woke up this morning--with cats all snuggled around me...they don't like the cold.

I've a fever and chills this morning...not sure why, I feel slightly light-headed and have a wicked stomach ache, so I guess I must have caught that bug that's been going around the office. I can't spare the $20 for a phone card and can't call in sick, so I guess I'll have to get dressed and walk into the office and work my shift today...it's only a slight fever anyway, I'm not bed-ridden or anything like that, I can cope for 4 hours, very probably...but I'll be dead-tired when I get home, I reckon. Meh-I'll be fine, I'm sure.

Parts of my state are under a winter storm watch today, but not us, we're too far north, I guess...it's going to hit about 50 to 75 miles south from what I hear, in the Catskill Mountains north of New York City, into the western Massachusetts border. If we get any snow at all, it won't be until later tonight, and will only be a dusting to a few inches, so no worries there. It's the cold that's going to be a...well, it's not going to be fun. It's going to be as low as minus 22 or minus 23 C, again tonight...but then it will be in the low 20's F, by tomorrow afternoon, so the deep freeze won't be an all-day thing, at least...but we're in for a very bad deep freeze mid-week, with temps ranging from minus 15 C down to minus 23 C possilby for a few days. Guess I better wash all my thermal undies, on Monday...gonna' need 'em...gotta' keep the old backsides warm and toasty.

After over 2 years of blogging on here, I'm going to be slowly phasing out this blog. Here's why:

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BCUK has been allowing this poo person to re-register on the blog FIFTEEN time since November. I'm SICK TO DEATH of this person stalking my blog with her shite spam, and I'm not going to put up with it any longer.

the helpless little shites at BCUK has point-blank REFUSED to do anything whatsoever about it. They kick her out, and then let her re-register. This person uses the SAME user-name every time...only changing the numbers...she started out as "clean000" now she's "clean014"...next month she'll be "clean015" and in March she'll be "clean016"...etc.

Wordpress doesn't have this problem. They have askmet. Now, wordpress is not as easy to use, and my friends aren't on there--but, who cares? At least with wordpress I can go in and blog in the morning, not having to waste precious minutes deleting spam, or being stalked by spammers. I'm SICK of this person hounding me all the time.

So, I'll be writing less on here, in the coming months, as I begin designing a new blog on wordpress. screw BCUK, if they're such helpless little ball-less babies, that they can't be bothered to stop this person from re-registering, they can go to hell, then.

I need to chill--lost my feeling for writing, tonight...doing a dull ol' meme, instead. Sorry. After polishing off a Dr Who chapter, my arthritis is wicked bad, tonight--can hardly move my fingers...so will do this, to relax and calm down...too late to get into another DVD...watched Silence in the Library and an episode of Primeval..and part of an old Neil Simon film called "Seems Like Old Times," that I got real cheaply, earlier in the week.

1. What sound or noise do you love?

Um, sort of a toss between the Dr Who theme, and horse hooves clip-clopping along.

2. What sound or noise do you hate?

Those moronic car boom boxes that shake the ground...someone should assasinate the pratt who invented those.

3. What profession(s) other than your own would you like to attempt?

Writer, obviously..barring that, radio presenter, something in theatre perhaps...or, maybe a tour guide or historian, maybe a dairy farmer, ha-ha. I found out that cows like me.

4. Do you think God...or whatever deity you may believe in, has a sense of humor?

He made Sarah Palin and Ozzy Osboune, didn't He? 'Nuf said?

5. Do you dress the same when you are depressed as you do when you are very happy?

I've never really thought of that--no, I probably dress more like a slob when I'm sad, 'cos I don't really care about myself as much, I expect.

6. Did you prepare your evening meal yourself? If yes, what did you have? If no, who made it?

Yes and no. I bought a half-dozen buffalo wings from the deli in the supermarket, but after I got home, I also made fresh carrot sticks with bleu cheese dressing, and some potato, onion and mayonnaise salad, to go with it

7. What is your ideal age?

I don't believe in the whole age stuff...that said, I absolutely loved my early 40's...it was like everything was coming up roses, my dreams were all coming true, and, I was having one heck of a good time, as well. After 44 though...bleh...all down into the loo, from there.

8. Do good things come to those who wait?

Not really. Technically, I believe that the only one stopping you from doing what you dream..is you. However, that's a bit naive, really...cos' life has a nasty way of throwing a spanner in the best-laid plans. But, I watched my dad wait for his ship to come in, all his life...never happened, because he was too afraid to walk out to the docks.

9. If you knew that every minute of the next 24 hours of your life would be recorded on camera is there anything you would change about your habits?

Not pick my nose, fart loudly, belch, walk around with my jeans unzipped or in only my long night shirt, sing in the shower, not swear colourfully when one of the cats decides to slowly amble two inches in front of my feet when I desperately need to use the loo, and especially don't use Charlie's stomach as a footstool (wouldn't want the animal rights activists to get on my case).

10. List five things do you regret not learning to do?

Acting (well), driving a horse, sailing a boat, reading/playing music and writing fiction.

The "only me" option doesn't seem to be working, tonight.

Must be some kind of bug. I've tried it twice, thinking that maybe I clicked the wrong thing, but it said, "only me" but seems to be appearing as an "everyone" post. This happened a few months ago, then cleared up by itself a few hours later...maybe that will be the case again?

Anyway, you can read this, it's not that it's really "private," I just don't think anyone cares...it's only a single chapter, so if one hasn't been reading the story, it won't make much sense anyway. I just wanted to post it on here, in case OpenOffice starts acting up again, or if I can't access Wordpress-which happens, sometimes.

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CHAPTER FOUR

As the creature slowly slid across the deck towards where the Doctor was standing, the Doctor didn't see it. He was crouched down, facing John. “We need to get out of here!” John whispered hoarsely. “Yes, I know that.” The Doctor whispered back ironically. The old man clutched the mobile phone and started punching the buttons frantically. Suddenly, the phone lit up with a strange greenish glow.

The Doctor had turned back towards the deck, and spied the Umvot inching towards him. Without hesitation, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his sonic screwdriver. Eyes narrowed, the Doctor stretched out the hand holding the sonic. He was about to press the button, when John yelled, “Doctor! Stop!”

Without fully taking his eyes off the creature, the Doctor turned his head slightly, puzzled. “What?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw John standing over him, with an old army revolver in his hand. The Doctor frowned and returned his attention again to the creeping Umvot. “You don't need that, John. I'd rather you put that away, if you don't mind.” His hand once again, began to squeeze the sonic. Only to freeze motionless, when he felt the cold, solid shooting end of the pistol being pressed against the back of his head.

The Doctor eyed the creature stalking him, his face showing mild anxiety now. The creature was almost within striking distance. “Erm—John, it's not me you have to worry about.” The Doctor tried to reassure him. “Silence!” the old man croaked woodenly. “We must have contact. A Time Lord will give us knowledge we need.”

Something clicked in the Doctor's mind, he wasn't sure exactly what was going on, but obviously John was under some kind of alien influence...or maybe he was an alien, taking human form. It had been known to happen, once or twice. He felt the small round end of the pistol press harder into the back of his skull.

The Doctor briefly wondered how his next regeneration would go, with part of his brains missing. “Listen to me,” he hissed, “I can help you, you don't need to do this. Whatever it is you want, whatever it is you need, I can help.” There was a moment's pause, as whatever it was that had taken over John, seem to ponder the Doctor's words. Yet, the Doctor's thread of hope was quickly severed. “We need....you.” John said flatly.

While he'd been talking, the Doctor's right hand had been fingering the controls of his screwdriver. “Sorry,” he said cheekily, “I think you're confusing me with Captain Jack. And, well, I'm afraid I need me more than you need me, at the moment.” At the last word, he whipped out the sonic and back handed, he aimed it at John. The light flashed on blue, as a high-pitched whine filled the little cabin.

Suddenly, John dropped the pistol, cried out and collapsed onto the floor. Staring down at the old man, the Doctors eyes seemed ancient and sad. “I'm sorry,” he muttered, “I'm so, so sorry, John.” Glancing up through the open door, he saw that the Umvot had disappeared. Possibly back into the water again. Just then, a tiny blipping noise began emitting from the man's mobile phone. The Doctor winced and muttered crossly. “Ah no, not that. What did you have to go and do that for?.” He stared down at John's prone body, and gave a tired sigh.

On the shore by the canal, the police had been ordered to back off. Two officers in a rowboat had retrieved what remained of the dead constable's body from the water. They were now tied up to the shore, handing the body up to two waiting paramedics with a stretcher, as other officers stood by silently watching. The policemen all ducked, as without warning, the colourful little narrowboat abruptly exploded into matchwood and flames.