To the FIA and Ferrari - one word, following today's result:

Karma.

RIP Paul Newman.

I'm gutted. He really was a bloody excellent actor and they don't make 'em like that anymore.

"God created us in his own image."

*Looks in mirror*

Oh dear. Poor God.

Oh Strictly Come Dancing, how you frustrate me, yet still I return each year for more. (No, Shezza, you don't need to remind me about my ranty post about the final last year, I remembered!)

First show of the series tonight. My thoughts:

( cut for the uninterested )

Courtesy of shereenb, this had me crying with laughter by the end.

Goooooooood morning! And welcome to the wonderful breakfast show here on Radio Caroline!

Foo Fighters 'to take a long break'

*sobs*





(I don't blame them, really. But I'll miss them).

1. Why on earth did they have Clive Anderson presenting? He's rubbish. Bring back Howard Goodall!

2. Why was Sir Roger Norrington dressed like a sous chef?

3. Who told Bryn Terfel that the mandarin style collar was a good look for him? Oh dear.

4. Why does 'Jerusalem' never, ever fail to make me cry?

Diddums.

It could be worse, Andrew. You could be having to do a proper job, like the rest of us. Writers block my arse. I mean, how difficult is it to write a poem for Prince William's 21st Birthday?

Happy Birthday William!
You're 21 today!
What a shame your mum's not here
But enjoy it anyway!

See? They should give me the job.

Anyone else completely underwhelmed by this here Large Hadron Collider thing that was switched on this morning? Or is it just me?

I failed to resist the hype, and watched a bit of the tennis before going to bed last night. All I could think, whilst watching Andy Murray joining the ranks of 'brave' British losers, was 'get your hair cut and have a shave, you miserable scruffy little oik!'

I am my father.

Clive Anderson's just announced that the winner of 'Maestro' next week will be decided by the ubiquitous viewer phone-in.

Cock.

I should have known, really. The BBC are bound to want to make money out if it. I bloody hate viewer phone-ins. The 'Great' British public are bloody rubbish at picking the right winners.

Geoffrey Perkins has died in a road accident.

Shit.

RIP Mike Flex.

Ooh! The PS3 version of Singstar has a proper duet mode, where you can sing the backing vocals and/or do actual proper harmonies like what they do on the record.

Oh my.

I think I might be in my own personal gaming heaven.

*Sings along to 'Freedom 90' for the gazillionth time*

I won a prize!

Well, ok, so it wasn't exactly 'won', more 'I managed to email before several other people'. But still - I never win prizes. So hurrah! Hurrah for me!

(And it gives me a chance to use my second Lympic gif, even though this post's not Lympic related, but it's related to winning stuff. Yes. Tenuous.)

Hurrah! Again!

Two medals at last in the athletics, and I have hardly any voice left after screaming at the screen during the end of the last race.

I'm deliberately not saying who won what and in which events, in case anyone out there is wanting to wait until they get home to see the results.

But I would just like to say - YIPPEEE!

We have now won too many gold medals in the Lympics for me to fit into one userpic. I think I'm going to have to make a second one with this week's winners on it!

My first ever autostitch panorama. Quite pleased with it, although of course I can't claim any credit as Photoshop Elements did all the tricky stuff! (As usual, click for bigness).

For anyone who's ever had difficulty understanding why people suffering from depression can't just 'pull themselves together' or 'get over it', I'd recommend reading this article in which Marcus Trescothick talks about the depression that stopped his England career. I'd also recommend it to those who claim to be 'a bit depressed' or treat depression as if it's the next trendy bandwagon they need to jump on, as they skip off to the doctor for some 'happy pills'. True depression is evil, scary, and utterly overwhelming and not something to be trivialised.

His description of the 'black flapping wings', along with detailed recollections of the most severe anxiety attacks he suffered might seem a little melodramatic, but they had me close to tears as I was reading them because they described so accurately just how utterly overwhelming the feelings and sensations can be.

Kudos to Marcus for finally being able to write so openly about his illness. Sure, he's going to make some money out of his autobiography, but good luck to him, he deserves to! I hope writing about it has proven to be cathartic for him, and it's great to see at the end of the article that he's managed to get his priorities so right and is happy with his life now. I think that reading this can only be helpful to those who find themselves in similar situations - it shows that there can be a 'happy ending' (or at least the ability, as Marcus says, to 'know your limits' and live a happier life whilst dealing with the illness) - and to the people who care for them but maybe can't understand why the person they love can't 'get a grip'.