My hour for tea is half-past five, and my buttered toast waits for nobody.

I was just reading about profiles and segments and I was thinking, yeah, well, I'd like to see an algorithm keep up with my ecclectic tastes. I swear I must have done some damage to the poor Amazon filter by ordering Jane Eyre and Nabonga (smirk). Mind you, my latest purchases have removed all the Shakespeare and Dickens from my recs and re-instated The Mighty Isis.

Sigh. I will keep doing that to myself. Or the truth will out, or some such. It's like the playlist you never want anyone to ever see, the stuff that you love that is so deeply, deeply uncool and indefensible. Or maybe that's just me. There's my profile, daggy down to my dirty boots, never mind my pretensions to trying to reading Victorian novels, which are only just a step above penny dreadfuls anyway, if at all.

Still, that young lad I saw on stage in Othello and Ivanov now ponces about in Marvel movies wearing a very silly hat. And even my two latest dvds, one of which I will admit to featuring a certain Fitzwilliam Darcy, couldn't possibly have anything, anything at all in common, until I thought of that one word: pond.

Oh dear, I do have a type. I am a profile. Insert the usual rant here.
( more: who is number one? )

You know, I do try to support my local bookstores. They don't make it easy. Ordered a couple of books on the weekend, from the meta rec list (that is, a book or author is mentioned several times in one week, I decide I should take the hint and read it), well and good, but now they've cancelled my order because none of the books, which were listed as being in stock, are in fact, in stock, or even in print. Not good, Dymocks. Not good at all. Hello, Amazon...

You know, there will come a point, and I'm passing the signposts already, where I just go straight to Amazon without even bothering. Lift your game, Dymocks. Lift. Your. Game.

Mind you, Amazon are in my poo books right now because my Kindle app has ceased functioning on my Samsung and I was halfway through several books, which I will have to probably try and source in print form, only to have Dymocks cancel my order due to sloppy stock-keeping, then back to Amazon again, only to have my order lost, stolen, backed over several times by heavy machinery, half eaten by a wild animal, recycled as firelighters...

So, ya wanna hear about the fillum I went to the other night? Tom Hiddleston's latest. Avoid at all costs.

It wasn't that it was bad, per se, and, as the women behind me were saying, one expects a certain level of wank, but...
( more: making bad choices )