Cold, we're so cold....we are

"We kiss the stars...We writhe...We are"

Crowley has been itching to post for the past several days, but it's been a hectic and largely joyless couple of weeks and MTNL hasn't been behaving itself (they ought to rename it 'MLTN' - My Loser Telephone Network), making access to the Internet a wee bit easier than a few rounds of strip poker with a pack of starving rottweilers.

Telecom troubles aside, Crowley is damp; Crowley is cold; Crowley is positively grouchy (more than the usual, i.e.)...Crowley loves winter, but it's colder than a witch's tit out here in the boonies (assuming, My Lords, that said witch is employed in a nitrogen bottling plant in Novya Zemlya), and, therefore, Crowley is going to spew forth herein copious amounts of venom and spite.

To begin with, an alarming tendency of male, litigating lawyers (of a certain large North-Indian state), to call other male, litigating lawyers "Dear" or "My Dear"! Listen up you cunts. This isn't Yorkshire or London or Dover or whatever. This is India. Addressing other males as "Dear" isn't on. Sure, if you could mimic a half-decent, blue-blooded, stiff-upper lip Brit accent (as opposed to sounding like rejects from the "Loins of Punjab Presents" casting couch), and called everyone "Dear boy" or "My Dear Sir", then, maybe, we could have some sort of an understanding. But the point is that when I (26 year-old heterosexual male) email a document to you (45 year-old supposedly heterosexual male), it rattles my innocent, Brahmin sensibilities when I get "Thank you dear. You are a Sweet" in reply. You want your personal bitch for those cold desert nights? Find yourself a fucking camel, yeah?

Winter Weddings, there's another one. If you ARE hell-bent on getting hitched in this biting cold, at least spare a thought for the baraatis. I mean, what's the point of dishing out all that nice food (and alcohol, in certain cases) when the guests can't really reach it.....kinda hard to eat / drink when your hands are stuck (I mean, literally) inside your pockets, and all you want to do is curl up next to a roaring fire and die....

And if I hear 'Billo Rani' at ONE more wedding, I will do someone an injury.......

Anyway, Crowley thinks that's enough gripe for one day (the deal is, this post was written over a space of 3 hours, various chores, tasks, phone calls and laundry visits interspersing the pecking away on the keyboard).

Crowley would also like to remind readers that February 1st, 2008 will be a day to remember, as some of us will be privy to an enchanting evening of music....a soul-moving performance by Iron Maiden. Crowley will be there. He will do his best to send a postcard.

("Soul-moving"? YEAH, RIGHT....Up The Irons, Lads..hee hee hee)