Roald Dahl has a lot to answer for

So it's been a while since there was a post of any real substance here and it kinda feels like I've been neglecting my English blog a little bit. Whether that's a good thing or a bad thing I don't really know. However, the blogosphere hasn't imploded and the world hasn't ended so I guess it's not really so important. Absolute shit of a day today, found out my girlfriend is probably not going to be coming back to Auckland after all, she's going to be staying put in Christchurch for reasons known only to herself. I guess I'm being a bit unfair bitching about it -- it's her life after all -- it's just that I'd kinda got my hopes up that my power of lurve (insert Hewey Lewis and the News chorus here) slash emotional blackmail would've worked on her. Oh well, back to the drawing board I guess. Suppose there are plenty more fish in the sea, and resorting to those worn-out old piece-o-crap cliches just rewarms the cockles of my stony frozen heart. Joy. Reading over that last sentence (well, prior to last) I think I really need to go on an adjective-free diet for a while. You know how sometimes you can't sleep because your mind won't turn off? I had that last night after blogging before bed. No sooner had my head touched the pillow did I start pontificating what to blog about next. Something about CSS or RSS maybe? No, that'd geek too many people out. A rant about how pathetically inadequate Chinese textbooks are? Hmmm....not much of an audience. A series of humorous anecdotes about insanely wrong foreign-language dictionaries, perhaps? Watch this space. Eventually, and I know not why, my mind got onto the topic of Oompa Loompas. Oompa bloody Loompas. Don't ask my why. I fear if I knew the reason I'd have to turn myself into the loony bin, and I doubt I could find a straitjacket that would blend with the rest of my wardrobe. I've always imagined them as blue blobby creatures somewhat resembling a Ribena-berry/gumdrop hybrid. Not long after that journey down Memory Lane and the subsequent diversion into Bizarreness Alley, my agonized mind got hooked onto the farting song from the animated BFG movie of god-only-knows how long ago. It's been stuck in my mind all these years, and last night, of all times, it chose to shake itself free of its moorings, dust itself off and tap-dance its merry way into my cerebelum. The Hare Krishna's ain't got nothin' on this little ditty. If you too want to see a Big Friendly Giant propelling himself through burning off methane (and lets face it, who on Earth wouldn't?) then get the video. Just don't blame me if you trip over the bags under your eyes in the morning while finding a drill to shut off that infernal melody. The rest of my pretty much entirely sleepless torment was filled with trying to curse Roald Dahl's legacy and failing, because how the Hell do you pronounce Roald Dahl anyway?