*Sulk*

Hello. 'Tis Mael. I am sitting here sulking because of the amount of trouble I'm in with the Music Department. My blog is too full so I shall stick stuff in here again.

I have a question. Rose, Omar and Harrie, does Wayne Smith have a middle name? Y'see, if he did have one and it began with H, he'd be WH Smith. Speaking of that, I should go there tomorrow to get a map for D of E.

Not much else to say. Oh, except perhaps this:

No, that's not something that's come up under Google image search 'village idiots'. That is a group of Hotrod owners-Russ, Sean and Thalassa-at Brian and Liz's April Fools' party. As you can see, they had a great time trying on Brian's foreign hat collection. He has a thing about hats, y'see. I think I got involved in that game somewhere. They were also selecting hats and playing cherades to fit with their hat choice. That probably doesn't make sense.

Oh, maaaaan. I wish I could explain how I managed to damage all that stuff. But I honestly don't know what happened to it. :'(

Irony.

Today I got stranded in Datchet.

Datchet. DAT-gag-me-with-a-spoon-and-call-me-Edna-chet.

And you know what? I was right about the place. For years (well, one) I have maintained the belief that Datchet serves no useful purpose in the nationwide transport network. Nobody lives there, there is nothing there that you could want and no reason to go there. It may as well be its own isolated Principality. The Crown Dependency State of Datchet. Population: 12. Head of State: the Duke of Edinburgh. Currency: the Useless.

It just exists, serving no purpose, as if to fill up space on the topographic drawing of the train line. Some Power that Is up in SouthWest Trains Secret Entry-by-Iris-Scanning Robochemical Lair HQ obviously thought, "Hang on a minute, chaps, we've a gaping hole in between Sunnymeads and WIndsor & Eton Riverside. What we need is a seven-letter place beginning with D." Those are the origins of both the town of Datchet and the humble crossword, it might seem.

Oh dear. You just counted the number of letters, didn't you.
*Sigh.*

So I'm there in Datchet, and not only was there not a soul in sight, but there weren't even any trees, or cars for that matter. It was as if all life-possessing entities had realised, in one terrible glib expostulation of unity, thought "Shit!", and jumped on the next train to London Waterloo. (This is the only place possible to access from Datchet.)

This is an example of what apparently goes on in Datchet:

And you know what? I think it puts the idea across far better than I ever could.

That is all I have to say on the matter.

MAEL it!

Because my blog is so ridiculously regularly updated, I have decided to stick a few bits of crap in here.

Random things to occur today:

My mother received an easter egg in the post.
My 'rents are going to a social club tonight which they've been asked along to by our pals Jane and Adey in order to check out a new rock n roll band, the Mosquitoes. Good name(!) Only problem is, it's also a gay singles night.

AND I'm not allowed to go along and laugh at this because I have to stay at home and babysit my sister and Jane and Ade's daughter, Emma.

BUT I HAVE A GERMAN EXCHANGE PARTNER!!!!!!!