“Would you like to be buried, sir, or dissected? Whichever you pick, you’ll get your lungs cut out and photographed.”

  The most difficult thing about having a blog (or website, as it is now known to some) is thinking up what to write about. I’m working on some projects that will hopefully be making an appearance on here in the near future – before 2012, that is – but nothing concrete at the moment. I am forced, then, to fall back on the topic that can make or break a blog: my life.

  I know, right. I’m that interesting.

  Today was an inset day at my dear school, which meant I could get up when I liked, try and fail to make an omlette and watch House before playing with Fred, instead of the usual routine of ‘get up, eat, shower, attempt to fix hair, fail at fixing hair, find lunch, get to the door, realise I’ve forgotten something, retrieve it from overcrowded desk, get to door, fall out of it, somehow get to down the road intact for another day of lecturing by old farts who think that teaching degree = Extreme Power Over All Life’.

  I also went to the cinema with Elizabeth, to see a film about gravediggers who later decided that the back sweat  of shovelling wasn’t worth the pay cheque and murdered people instead. Or something. I’ve been pretty interested in the story of Burke and Hare since they featured on an episode of Blue Peter when I was eight. I remember saying to Mum, “They’re Scottish and that guy has our surname, is he a relation?!” My grandfather on my dad’s side was from Glasgow, see.

  Turns out the actual Burke and Hare were Irish immigrants to Edinburgh, and maybe never (re)dug a grave in their lives, but what the hey. I enjoyed the film. Simon Pegg looks exactly like his character. My favourite bit, apart from the in-jokes featuring every famous Scottish scientist or resident of Edinburgh that ever lived, was Pugsley turning to me and saying “Simon Pegg sounds more Irish than Scottish.”

  Yes, dear.