Anyway, yesterday I bought fur and now I'm going to Hell. I bought a vintage stoat stole, complete with tails (three) and feet (four) and heads (one). I figure this is ok as a) everyone knows that buying vintage fur is nowhere near as evil as buying new fur and b) it could be worse, it's not like I'm buying a hat* made of Bichon Frise, and c) everyone knows that stoats are a nasty native-bird-butchering pest anyway.
Lovely soft fur they've got, though.
Today the airport was having an open day where you could go up the new 9-storey air traffic control tower - I am mildly obsessed with the airport so I went. I love the airport. I love flying and I love boarding the plane and I love air hostesses and I love pilots and I love that there is a bar at the airport where you can sit and have a glass of wine and wait to board and watch the planes and I love flying at night and I love flying early in the morning and I love having the lights turned off for landing and I love the AIRPORT SO MUCH.
I wouldn't want to work at the airport, though. Or live there.
Anyway, I went up the air control tower and watched the planes take off and land and generally drive about (although saying 'drive' is very gauche - when one is talking about planes one says 'taxi'), and it looked like this:
Apologies for the lack of humour in today's post - nothing funny has happened - hopefully tomorrow something amusing will happen at work? If not I guess it'll just be more of this, possibly with a dash of existential angst and thwarted romance thrown in. And they're not funny at all. Not at all. <(")>