Always a decade (fashionably) late.

Congratulations, Troubled Youth of Britain. Your plan to have your voice heard is going splendidly. Obviously after burning down people’s homes, places of work and cars, after looting shops and burgling people’s homes, rioting outside hospitals and other places that offer refuge and shelter for vulnerable people, after all this, the rest of the United Kingdom will eagerly respect and value your opinion and gladly treat you like responsible human beings.

andtheynamedhimteddy:

God bless this post.

(Source: serwhosit, via fellfromfiction)

Of scorpions and cockroaches.

It has been said that cockroaches are the only things to survive a nuclear blast. I don’t doubt it, it takes a lot of whacks from my shoe/sandal/book/mug, and inordinate amounts of screaming to off one brown little bugger. To top it all off, it’ll be jumping around like it’s in a flea circus (remember those? I don’t.), making the task of killing it that much harder. 

Now. I don’t know if scorpions would survive a nuclear blast (but I don’t doubt it), and it’s a testament to my geekiness that rather than think “Oh dear LORD that’s a scorpion scuttling across my yard” I automatically thought it was a baby blast-ended skrewt. 

To be fair, though, it could have been one, and I would still have killed it with a shoe.

Only a minute or two ago I opened these very doors, the ones I showed off earlier with the blurb “Brb, Narnia” (and then giggled at my own cleverness, like it hasn’t been done by countless people with a closet before), a cockroach jumped in my face. 

Then I picked up my laptop, only to find the screen covered in flying… Whatevers. 

Then my sister watched as a rather large grasshopper jumped into her hair. 

And then.. Well, then a blast-ended scorpion came crawling across our garden.

I have never been so thorough in shaking out my sheets before going to bed in my entire life.

..”