Okay, with regard to Crowley's birthday: I consider his Birthday to
be the day he fell -or became what we now know as Crowley- and not
the day he was forged as an angel (when the rest of the universe was
created). As the universe was created on 21st of October (at 9am),
and everything in Genesis is counted in days, I consider the Fall to
be one metaphorical Day after Creation (too many capitals). Thus:
Crowley's Twisted Version of a Birthday (also the Birthday of every
other fallen angel) is on the 22nd October. This would make Zirah's
birthday the 21st- something which Crowley seems to have
forgotten...Thanks for your shiny lovely feedback. Much love.
18th October 2002:
Close. Very, very close. Fortunately, was able to blame entire
Missing Report Debacle on HellEx couriers (noted for inefficiency as
well as random bouts of psychotic sniper activity), giving self
enough time to pull report from arse. Both stressful and exhausting.
Nap.
19th October 2002:
7am: Good God, what am I doing awake? Madness.
8:46am: Slightly better. Slid down to Marks & Spencer's to purchase
milk, light bulbs, sump oil. Snooty managerial person with protruding
Adam's apple and bad skin objected to dressing gown & slipper
ensemble. Pointed out that self's sleepwear was more stylish and
fashionable than quite possibly his entire wardrobe, whereupon Hello-
My-Name-Is-Quentin became irate. Happily, he spontaneously combusted
before he could call security (probably karma or high cholesterol).
Procured milk and light bulbs. Where is sump oil?
10am: Early elevenses. Light bulbs stale. Typical. Nap.
11:02am: Phone conference with Paul McCartney. V. scary. Require
stiff drink.
11:06am: Another drink, just to be safe.
11:14am: May as well finish the bottle.
11:30am: Nap.
2:07pm: Situation! Decided to play Bowie album, only to find missing.
Someone will pay.
2:09pm: Remembered lent Ziggy Stardust LP to Aziraphale, in futile
attempt to introduce modicum of sanity to Angel's musical collection.
Bugger. Need that to wank to.
2:14pm: Wanking to Stranglers EP simply not the same. Must call Angel
to retrieve record. Perhaps later: feel oddly disinclined to talk to
Aziraphale just at present.
3:07pm: Restless.
3:14pm: In order to occupy self (and hopefully shake out of strange
and unfathomable funk) will make plans for impending birthday. Three
days to go, and have not organised party.
3:16pm: No party. Have no friends. Who will give me presents?
Aziraphale might, but have never mentioned birthday to him before.
Must drop subtle hints. Will invite Angel for tea after casually
mentioning it when asking after record. Perfect.
5:03pm: Have rung Angel. He has melted Bowie album after accidentally
leaving on stove. Shall put scorpions in his underwear while he
sleeps.
5:04pm: Does Aziraphale even *wear* underwear?
5:05pm: Am now plagued by horrible images of Aziraphale sans
trousers. My own subconscious conspires against me. Require drink.
20th October 2002:
Drunk.
21st October 2002:
10:34am: Message from Angel- on ansaphone, no less! Apologising
profusely for previous night. How nice.
10:36am: Have come to sudden & horrible realisation that I have no
memory of previous night. This does not bode well. Must call Angel to
clarify situation.
11:03am: Ugh. Apparently, "previous" night refers to 19th, wherein I
made drunken call to Aziraphale and abused him soundly for several
hours, then burst into tears. Will take own life by placing head in
oven.
11:05am: Haven't got an oven. Also, am immortal. Bugger. Telly.
12:45: Wish I were Sean Connery.
12:46: Wish I had Ursula Andress. Will have to wait until post
mortem, worse luck.
1:16pm: Went for walk/stroll. Helped large franchise corporation take
over small family-run delicatessen, replacing quality goods and
friendly service with bland trendy nastiness. Also, gave CEO of said
corp. severe and incurable venereal disease. (Was not on behalf of
Aziraphale, who I still loathe. CEO was tosser.)
3:43pm: Nap.
5:21pm: Recalled that today marks creation of world. Had a drink in
celebration. Good old world. Also means tomorrow is birthday.
Depressing. Will be 6006- feeling almost past it. Need sex.
11:18pm: Lovely girl. Lovely boy, too. Still feeling old.
22nd October 2002:
5:14am: Happy bloody birthday to me.
5:49am: No presents yet.
6:18am: Champagne for breakfast. And why not? Am very very old and
shall do exactly as I please. Come to think of it, I generally do.
6:24am: Took Bentley for a spin to cheer self up. Love London in the
early morning, when the streets are nice and clean, before all the
people and pigeons come out. Played the Pixies very loud for a happy
half hour before they turned into "Seven Seas of Rhye".
7:02am: Am parked outside Aziraphale's empty shop. I drive all the
way over here so he can give me my birthday present, and he hasn't
the decency to be in. Typical.
8:18am: Sent Bentley on home without me and took Tube. Most excellent
trip: caused wrong kind of snow on rails (underground yet), and
massive peak-hour hold up. Much angst. Slipped out through emergency
exit and took short cut through tunnel, where saw v. strange young
lady disappear through a wall. Must lay off the Tanqueray.
9:20am: Home again, home again, jiggity jig. Post has been! Parcels
for me.
10:11am: Completely pants presents. Snide card from Hastur (who feels
Birthdays are disgustingly "human"), almost identical to the one I
sent him. Gift voucher from Himself. Self-help book from Gabriel, the
bastard. Nothing from Aziraphale, not that I care. He has most likely
forgotten. However, small box of chocolates from that nice Mrs
Wormwood who does for Mephistopheles.
10:13am: Nougat. Every bloody one of them nougat- save for one with a
dead scorpion in. A bit melted, but otherwise ok.
10:14am: Hate everyone.
11:02am: Starting to get cold. Love Autumn. Usually go to Hyde Park
with Angel round about now to watch leaves. However, Angel is a
bastard, so will have nothing further to do with him.
Noon: Realised have not eaten for several days, except for manky
chocolates. Don't care. Sick of this body, anyway.
2:34pm: Holiday specials! Already! Shall report below: Himself will
*not* be pleased.
2:37pm: Nap.
5:45pm: No reason to get up.
5:46pm: Drink.
5:52pm: Knock at door. More post?
5:56pm: Going out! Happy birthday to me!
23rd October 2002:
Last night turned out to be utterly brilliant and lovely. Aziraphale
had not forgotten birthday, but instead spent day planning fantastic
night with food, drink, club, etc. Also, best present ever: Bowie
album not only still intact, but signed for me! Sneaky Angel. How'd
he pull that? V. tired, but happy. Actually, will only be happy once
have shoved self-help tome so far up Gabriel's tight arse that he
coughs staples (although Angel claims first dibs on this).
be the day he fell -or became what we now know as Crowley- and not
the day he was forged as an angel (when the rest of the universe was
created). As the universe was created on 21st of October (at 9am),
and everything in Genesis is counted in days, I consider the Fall to
be one metaphorical Day after Creation (too many capitals). Thus:
Crowley's Twisted Version of a Birthday (also the Birthday of every
other fallen angel) is on the 22nd October. This would make Zirah's
birthday the 21st- something which Crowley seems to have
forgotten...Thanks for your shiny lovely feedback. Much love.
18th October 2002:
Close. Very, very close. Fortunately, was able to blame entire
Missing Report Debacle on HellEx couriers (noted for inefficiency as
well as random bouts of psychotic sniper activity), giving self
enough time to pull report from arse. Both stressful and exhausting.
Nap.
19th October 2002:
7am: Good God, what am I doing awake? Madness.
8:46am: Slightly better. Slid down to Marks & Spencer's to purchase
milk, light bulbs, sump oil. Snooty managerial person with protruding
Adam's apple and bad skin objected to dressing gown & slipper
ensemble. Pointed out that self's sleepwear was more stylish and
fashionable than quite possibly his entire wardrobe, whereupon Hello-
My-Name-Is-Quentin became irate. Happily, he spontaneously combusted
before he could call security (probably karma or high cholesterol).
Procured milk and light bulbs. Where is sump oil?
10am: Early elevenses. Light bulbs stale. Typical. Nap.
11:02am: Phone conference with Paul McCartney. V. scary. Require
stiff drink.
11:06am: Another drink, just to be safe.
11:14am: May as well finish the bottle.
11:30am: Nap.
2:07pm: Situation! Decided to play Bowie album, only to find missing.
Someone will pay.
2:09pm: Remembered lent Ziggy Stardust LP to Aziraphale, in futile
attempt to introduce modicum of sanity to Angel's musical collection.
Bugger. Need that to wank to.
2:14pm: Wanking to Stranglers EP simply not the same. Must call Angel
to retrieve record. Perhaps later: feel oddly disinclined to talk to
Aziraphale just at present.
3:07pm: Restless.
3:14pm: In order to occupy self (and hopefully shake out of strange
and unfathomable funk) will make plans for impending birthday. Three
days to go, and have not organised party.
3:16pm: No party. Have no friends. Who will give me presents?
Aziraphale might, but have never mentioned birthday to him before.
Must drop subtle hints. Will invite Angel for tea after casually
mentioning it when asking after record. Perfect.
5:03pm: Have rung Angel. He has melted Bowie album after accidentally
leaving on stove. Shall put scorpions in his underwear while he
sleeps.
5:04pm: Does Aziraphale even *wear* underwear?
5:05pm: Am now plagued by horrible images of Aziraphale sans
trousers. My own subconscious conspires against me. Require drink.
20th October 2002:
Drunk.
21st October 2002:
10:34am: Message from Angel- on ansaphone, no less! Apologising
profusely for previous night. How nice.
10:36am: Have come to sudden & horrible realisation that I have no
memory of previous night. This does not bode well. Must call Angel to
clarify situation.
11:03am: Ugh. Apparently, "previous" night refers to 19th, wherein I
made drunken call to Aziraphale and abused him soundly for several
hours, then burst into tears. Will take own life by placing head in
oven.
11:05am: Haven't got an oven. Also, am immortal. Bugger. Telly.
12:45: Wish I were Sean Connery.
12:46: Wish I had Ursula Andress. Will have to wait until post
mortem, worse luck.
1:16pm: Went for walk/stroll. Helped large franchise corporation take
over small family-run delicatessen, replacing quality goods and
friendly service with bland trendy nastiness. Also, gave CEO of said
corp. severe and incurable venereal disease. (Was not on behalf of
Aziraphale, who I still loathe. CEO was tosser.)
3:43pm: Nap.
5:21pm: Recalled that today marks creation of world. Had a drink in
celebration. Good old world. Also means tomorrow is birthday.
Depressing. Will be 6006- feeling almost past it. Need sex.
11:18pm: Lovely girl. Lovely boy, too. Still feeling old.
22nd October 2002:
5:14am: Happy bloody birthday to me.
5:49am: No presents yet.
6:18am: Champagne for breakfast. And why not? Am very very old and
shall do exactly as I please. Come to think of it, I generally do.
6:24am: Took Bentley for a spin to cheer self up. Love London in the
early morning, when the streets are nice and clean, before all the
people and pigeons come out. Played the Pixies very loud for a happy
half hour before they turned into "Seven Seas of Rhye".
7:02am: Am parked outside Aziraphale's empty shop. I drive all the
way over here so he can give me my birthday present, and he hasn't
the decency to be in. Typical.
8:18am: Sent Bentley on home without me and took Tube. Most excellent
trip: caused wrong kind of snow on rails (underground yet), and
massive peak-hour hold up. Much angst. Slipped out through emergency
exit and took short cut through tunnel, where saw v. strange young
lady disappear through a wall. Must lay off the Tanqueray.
9:20am: Home again, home again, jiggity jig. Post has been! Parcels
for me.
10:11am: Completely pants presents. Snide card from Hastur (who feels
Birthdays are disgustingly "human"), almost identical to the one I
sent him. Gift voucher from Himself. Self-help book from Gabriel, the
bastard. Nothing from Aziraphale, not that I care. He has most likely
forgotten. However, small box of chocolates from that nice Mrs
Wormwood who does for Mephistopheles.
10:13am: Nougat. Every bloody one of them nougat- save for one with a
dead scorpion in. A bit melted, but otherwise ok.
10:14am: Hate everyone.
11:02am: Starting to get cold. Love Autumn. Usually go to Hyde Park
with Angel round about now to watch leaves. However, Angel is a
bastard, so will have nothing further to do with him.
Noon: Realised have not eaten for several days, except for manky
chocolates. Don't care. Sick of this body, anyway.
2:34pm: Holiday specials! Already! Shall report below: Himself will
*not* be pleased.
2:37pm: Nap.
5:45pm: No reason to get up.
5:46pm: Drink.
5:52pm: Knock at door. More post?
5:56pm: Going out! Happy birthday to me!
23rd October 2002:
Last night turned out to be utterly brilliant and lovely. Aziraphale
had not forgotten birthday, but instead spent day planning fantastic
night with food, drink, club, etc. Also, best present ever: Bowie
album not only still intact, but signed for me! Sneaky Angel. How'd
he pull that? V. tired, but happy. Actually, will only be happy once
have shoved self-help tome so far up Gabriel's tight arse that he
coughs staples (although Angel claims first dibs on this).