More than tall, very tall and with long red hair. I've got the red hair.
The saga of the energy saving light globe in the ceiling is on-going.
Tall person nephew came in this morning so I had him change the globe for warm white.
Tall person stands on the floor and simply reaches up right into the ceiling and unscrews the globe, replaces globe and it doesn't work.
The stark daylight globe has four prongs or whatever, replacement globe has three whatevers. It screws in but doesn't make contact.
It will go in the smaller downlight but not the big one.
So next shop, I must look for 100w in new 18w, make sure it screws in, make sure it's warm daylight, make sure it has four whatevers and take out a bank loan to buy it.
I can't believe tall person can just reach to the ceiling. He even had to bend his elbow since he had arm room left over.
I have red hair.
17 comments:
There's a willowy redhead just started at our work. I see your point: something about them.
oh christ not again.
Lol at Ann and Lad. Much energy seems to be expended on an energy efficient light bulb. Expended calories v. energy savings...stick with incandescent.
I wouldn't mind being taller. Not much, just enough so I didn't have to take up 8 inch hems on all the trousers I buy. The hair thing though, I'd love to have long hair. Mine grows to a certain length, about three or four inches past my shoulders, then stops. Must be my genetically pre-determined length. How I've pined for waist length, hip length, knee length hair. There's a woman and her daughter here in Adelaide who both have hair in a VERY thick braid hanging to about mid thigh. When I say thick, think of those hawsers that hold the ships in port. Have you noticed that it's much harder now to get the right light globes? There used to be so much more choice. Incandescent is almost impossible to find on the shelves at Coles.
Where is Fleetwood anyway?
You could always borrow Tom Cruise's milk crate, Jahteh ... :P
Yes dear Andrew the Hot,
the litter bin will go private again i fear.
oh River - 'hawsers' - there's a word we don't hear much. You sure do cover the waterfront.
I am incandescent with rage over the paucity of the globes with the nice light,
plus
it has now been proved that the new so-called ecologically-correct globes have some evil polluting component.
bwah ha ha.
Lord Fleetwood is brawling with BTinternet, which is apparently just as VILE as our Telstra. My money's on him for a win by epithet, and I miss his comments round the blogs.
Hi. My name is Robert; watching the cricket darlings and it don't look good.
Off to the CCU yesterday where social workers (all social no work) play email and post to their blogs. They pad their bras too, and worry about a fat arse. They won't root more than twice a week: it's extravagance. ha ha ha. “Does Robert get money from you?” they say. It's all they can think of. “No,” says my biographical subject, to their enormous chagrin. But they'll keep trying all the same, to get something on me. So will their bosses: those gangster psychiatrists, even telling lies in the Supreme Court, if you please. I'm a threat to them all, poor dears. They want control; totally, utterly, of this poor wretched man! And no witnesses. Of course. But golly, if they knew the notes I'm taking -names and everything, they'd be looking for a new job already. But anyway, there's patients living in villa units there, in this CCU. My biographical subject knocks on a door. A woman answers, squeals, throws her arms around him, but he hustles her straight to the kitchen, pulls a bottle of Listerine from his pocket and she proceeds to gargle. (She's not bad looking he says but her breath stinks.) Fair enough, but when they embrace it's too much, I have to leave. And I'm inspired, in the distance there's a valley, mountains, Rachmaninoff at last.
-Robbert!
Clarke just scored a century.
ha ha. How's that!
Well, I'm reasonably tall. But I only get the red hair by chemical means.
Hb, the chemicals in red hair dye are supposed to be carcinogenic in which case I should have died 20 years ago.
Robbert, Rachmaninoff and cricket, strange bedfellows.
FG, I wish Fleets would just sacrifice a virgin to his IP and get on line although around his neighbourhood, virgins would be in very short supply.
Jayne, that's very snarky. I happen to know he uses a 44 gallon drum.
River, my hair is shrinking. I haven't had it cut in years but it's not as long. Mind you, long hair can be hazardous. I have almost strangled myself turning over in bed.
I would Andrew, but with downlights I'm always worried about the heat coming off a 100w globe.
Miss O'Dyne, we needed you in the comments about the lodger in the Windsor Hotel tower.
I have faith that LadLitter has learnt his lesson regarding redheads. Yes, I'm kidding myself, he's a bloke, they never learn.
Lad, stick with the cricket.
You won't, you'll perve through the office greenery.
Once upon a time there was just a two bayonet light globe...40, 60, 80 or 100 watt. It used to light up the whole room not like today where you have to have four downlights to do the same job. There are so many connections that its hit an miss unless you take out the old globe (which is almost impossible unless you smash it and catch it as it showers down) garrhgh
and those new ugly curly ones are so toxic if they break the amount of mercury they release makes you sick
I want the old cheap and simple ones back ....
That's me, Therese, cheap and simple. I'm going to try Big W for the right globe this time.
Now cut that out, you two! The Lad Litter blog is staying on the level and available to all and sundry. As is Lad Litter himself. Hang on that didn't come out quite right... (flattens against wall and sneaks out)
Thanks awfully Miss J, when I sit at the piano now I'm wearing a cravat; if I'm to be tarred and feathered in this western suburb I may as well appear to deserve it.
-Robert.
Lad Litter, it's okay, you're a bloke, it's in your jeans, I mean genes.
Being a redhead I know we're litter magnets, a nuisance but we cope.
Robbert, please, I married a cravat wearing dork so in the interest of my imagination, put your jocks and socks on.
A cravat? He wore a cravat? Golly, serves you right!
My privates are well-hidden, I haven't had my jocks off in three months.
'If I loved You' last evening, for Miss Pavlov, rain pouring through the rusted spouting. Well if I could sit beside her a while I'd pull out all her grammar: past tenses and apostrophes, undies on the love seat.
Robbert, font of wisdom, you are so right. When I found that he'd left two cravats behind I took great delight in shredding them to bits. Never trust a man in a cravat.
My rusting spouting is dripping into buckets which I then tip on the garden. Mustn't waste.
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