Magic Knickers.
They're about as magic as Tesco's mushrooms. The value ones.
At £35 a pair I'd recommend that you save your money for... oh I dunno... a Betamax video maybe.
They didn’t suck me in one inch. Not even half an inch. Nothing. Zilch. Zero. Diddly squat. Zip.
They did, however, give me an excellent workout trying to get into the bloomin’ things, and I concede that they would be useful in sub-zero temperatures seeing as they start somewhere near your armpits and end at your knee caps.
My final words on the subject:
Not attractive, and not practical in a toilet emergency.
Sigh. I guess I'll have to pass on the chocolate for a while.
.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Good Neighbours?
After he had gone she played “their song” over and over again.
“Nobody gonna love me better, I must stick witu forever…”
She had already forgiven him for those hurtful words he had shouted at her before he walked out, slamming the door behind him. She regretted every hurtful word she shouted back at him. She just wanted him back, and wanted everything to be right again.
“A lover’s quarrel” I thought to myself. “He’ll be back when he’s cooled down”
These neighbours seemed different to the last ones. The neighbours we had previously were not much more than kids, and behaved as such. Loud friends, louder rave music, and shabby curtains that were never opened. They didn’t really have arguments as such; that would involve too much dialogue. But they had had fights.
When the new neighbours took the time to decorate the whole house before moving in, I took that as a good sign.
“It looks like they’ve finally moved in” I said to Mr Man one night. As I parked the car on our drive I had noticed people sitting in the living room by lamp light. There was a pram in the corner of the room, and a pretty lampshade hanging around the main light. They had obviously made a lot of effort to create a home for themselves, just in time for Christmas.
“They seem like a nice little family” I continued, and thought how reassuring it is to have a respectable family settled next door.
I was surprised to be woken up by their shouting on Boxing Day. But at least that’s all it was – shouting – not the smashing, banging, and cries of struggle we had become accustomed to with our previous neighbours. This argument was two sided too – she shouted as much as he did. I chose not to worry about her, although after he had left the sound of her heart breaking was audible to all as she played the same song over and over again.
“Nobody ever made me feel this way, I must stick witu”
But he returned, just as I predicted, and today was different.
Oh, the shouting continued, but this time it was interspersed with her sobs. There was more banging than yesterday, and eventually her sobs turned to howls of grief. Not the return I was hoping for - for her or for us.
And now, all is quiet.
I hate not knowing when to get involved, and when not to. The title question is really aimed at me. This year is the first time I have ever had this experience with neighbours.
No one really knows what goes on in the lives of their neighbours do they?
.
“Nobody gonna love me better, I must stick witu forever…”
She had already forgiven him for those hurtful words he had shouted at her before he walked out, slamming the door behind him. She regretted every hurtful word she shouted back at him. She just wanted him back, and wanted everything to be right again.
“A lover’s quarrel” I thought to myself. “He’ll be back when he’s cooled down”
These neighbours seemed different to the last ones. The neighbours we had previously were not much more than kids, and behaved as such. Loud friends, louder rave music, and shabby curtains that were never opened. They didn’t really have arguments as such; that would involve too much dialogue. But they had had fights.
When the new neighbours took the time to decorate the whole house before moving in, I took that as a good sign.
“It looks like they’ve finally moved in” I said to Mr Man one night. As I parked the car on our drive I had noticed people sitting in the living room by lamp light. There was a pram in the corner of the room, and a pretty lampshade hanging around the main light. They had obviously made a lot of effort to create a home for themselves, just in time for Christmas.
“They seem like a nice little family” I continued, and thought how reassuring it is to have a respectable family settled next door.
I was surprised to be woken up by their shouting on Boxing Day. But at least that’s all it was – shouting – not the smashing, banging, and cries of struggle we had become accustomed to with our previous neighbours. This argument was two sided too – she shouted as much as he did. I chose not to worry about her, although after he had left the sound of her heart breaking was audible to all as she played the same song over and over again.
“Nobody ever made me feel this way, I must stick witu”
But he returned, just as I predicted, and today was different.
Oh, the shouting continued, but this time it was interspersed with her sobs. There was more banging than yesterday, and eventually her sobs turned to howls of grief. Not the return I was hoping for - for her or for us.
And now, all is quiet.
I hate not knowing when to get involved, and when not to. The title question is really aimed at me. This year is the first time I have ever had this experience with neighbours.
No one really knows what goes on in the lives of their neighbours do they?
.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Celebration Time!
Has it really been a week since I last updated this blog? In my defence I have been particularly unwell with what I thought was a vicious bout of Irritable Bowel, but what in fact turned out to be Viral Gastroenteritis.
After a week of passing watery poo and not being able to eat very much I feel quite tired and weak. But…
Today I have cause for celebration! Yes, it’s official…
.
.
.
Today I did my first proper poo! I never thought I could feel so happy and excited about such a thing! I rushed off to the supermarket to buy the biggest parsnip I could find to go with the roast dinner I intend on eating tomorrow in celebration!
Not quite ready for cake or chocolate yet though… although if you’d like to send me some anyway I’m sure I’ll feel better by the time it arrives!
After a week of passing watery poo and not being able to eat very much I feel quite tired and weak. But…
Today I have cause for celebration! Yes, it’s official…
.
.
.
Today I did my first proper poo! I never thought I could feel so happy and excited about such a thing! I rushed off to the supermarket to buy the biggest parsnip I could find to go with the roast dinner I intend on eating tomorrow in celebration!
Not quite ready for cake or chocolate yet though… although if you’d like to send me some anyway I’m sure I’ll feel better by the time it arrives!
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Trouble and Strife – Mr Man and his Wife
Mr Man and I have very different tastes in music. In fact it’s no understatement to say that I hate some of his favourite music (Aphex Twin?), and he definitely hates mine.
I was listening to a cassette this evening (remember those?) from 1995, and it is still possibly one of the best albums I have ever bought. It’s called “Together” and it’s a collection of 20 classic soul duets from 1966 through to 1992.
“I hate this song” Mr Man kept reminding me as I cheerfully sang along.
“But it makes me think of me and you!” I kept saying, and then sang louder and directly to him.
He was unimpressed.
I realise now that it may have been my singing ability that was the problem:
“Oh I love this next one” I said “but I know you hate it. Guess which one it is” I insisted, as I started singing the introductory music before the song had started.
“The A-Team?” he offered.
The song was actually “I knew you were waiting (for me)” by George Michael and Aretha Franklin. Does that sound like the A-Team? Ok, I suppose you had to be there, but I laughed and I laughed.
“Alright settle down” says Mr Man.
Track Listing:
Side One
I knew you were waiting (for me) – George Michael and Aretha Franklin
Sometimes love just ain’t enough – Patty Smyth and Don Henley
Where is the love – Mica Paris and Will Downing
Baby, come to me – Patti Austin and James Ingram
Don’t know much – Linda Ronstadt featuring Aaron Neville
We’ve got tonight – Kenny Rogers and Sheena Easton
If you were with me now – Kylie Minogue and Keith Washington
You are everything – Dianna Ross and Marvin Gaye
Ain’t nothing like the real thing – Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell
Up where we belong – Joe Cocker and Jennifer Warnes
Side Two
Endless love – Dianna Ross and Lionel Richie
With you I’m born again – Billy Preston and Syreeta
Tonight I celebrate my love – Peabo Bryson and Roberta Flack
You’re all I need to get by – Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell
Stop, look, listen (to your heart) – Marvin Gaye and Dianna Ross
It takes two – Marvin Gaye and Kim Weston
Too much, too little, too late – Johnny Mathis and Deniece Williams
Reunited – Peaches and Herb
Solid – Ashford and Simpson
Teardrops – Womack and Womack
I was listening to a cassette this evening (remember those?) from 1995, and it is still possibly one of the best albums I have ever bought. It’s called “Together” and it’s a collection of 20 classic soul duets from 1966 through to 1992.
“I hate this song” Mr Man kept reminding me as I cheerfully sang along.
“But it makes me think of me and you!” I kept saying, and then sang louder and directly to him.
He was unimpressed.
I realise now that it may have been my singing ability that was the problem:
“Oh I love this next one” I said “but I know you hate it. Guess which one it is” I insisted, as I started singing the introductory music before the song had started.
“The A-Team?” he offered.
The song was actually “I knew you were waiting (for me)” by George Michael and Aretha Franklin. Does that sound like the A-Team? Ok, I suppose you had to be there, but I laughed and I laughed.
“Alright settle down” says Mr Man.
Track Listing:
Side One
I knew you were waiting (for me) – George Michael and Aretha Franklin
Sometimes love just ain’t enough – Patty Smyth and Don Henley
Where is the love – Mica Paris and Will Downing
Baby, come to me – Patti Austin and James Ingram
Don’t know much – Linda Ronstadt featuring Aaron Neville
We’ve got tonight – Kenny Rogers and Sheena Easton
If you were with me now – Kylie Minogue and Keith Washington
You are everything – Dianna Ross and Marvin Gaye
Ain’t nothing like the real thing – Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell
Up where we belong – Joe Cocker and Jennifer Warnes
Side Two
Endless love – Dianna Ross and Lionel Richie
With you I’m born again – Billy Preston and Syreeta
Tonight I celebrate my love – Peabo Bryson and Roberta Flack
You’re all I need to get by – Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell
Stop, look, listen (to your heart) – Marvin Gaye and Dianna Ross
It takes two – Marvin Gaye and Kim Weston
Too much, too little, too late – Johnny Mathis and Deniece Williams
Reunited – Peaches and Herb
Solid – Ashford and Simpson
Teardrops – Womack and Womack
Saturday, December 01, 2007
What Colour Crayon Are You?
I know, I know, I keep posting "lazy posts" at the moment. But at least I'm still posting! One of my other blogs hadn't been updated since August!
I came across this personality quiz in Helena's blog. So, this is me: (I would like to have been a green crayon or a brown crayon just because I like those colours, but there you are... life is like a box of crayons, and you never know what you're gonna get!)
I came across this personality quiz in Helena's blog. So, this is me: (I would like to have been a green crayon or a brown crayon just because I like those colours, but there you are... life is like a box of crayons, and you never know what you're gonna get!)
| You Are a Blue Crayon |
 Your world is colored in calm, understated, deep colors. You are a loyal person, and the truest friend anyone could hope to find. On the inside, you tend to be emotional and even a bit moody. However, you know that people depend on you. So you put on a strong front. Your color wheel opposite is orange. Orange people may be opinionated, but you feel they lack the depth to truly understand what they're saying. |
Tell me what this says about you in the comments section.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Monday, November 19, 2007
Toxic Waste
Ok, slightly later than promised, but here is a photo of the sweets you (should) have all been looking for!
I knew this would be a challenge that Trainee Paramedic couldn’t resist, but it seems even he couldn’t find them!
“I did actually look for them (albeit discreetly, being 22 and all, he he) but to no avail”
It seems I shall have to embark on a mission to find which stores stock them.
But TP continues:
“The most sour sweets I know are from an old fashioned sweet shop near where I work, and I love buying them, and handing them out at work to see people's reactions. I find it hilarious, but I have received a few choice words in response! ha ha.”
Hehehe, TP I like your style! But I wonder how the two sweets compare…
Friday, November 16, 2007
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Retail Therapy
I love shopping. I love finding the squeaky trolley that won’t go the way you want it to. I love being sandwiched between the slow shoppers in front and the ones trying to get past me from behind. I love having my personal space invaded by shoppers who seem to follow me into every aisle and stand close enough for me to feel their breath on my neck. I love having to stand around for ages waiting for that person to move out of the way of that shelf I am trying to reach. I love it when the item I want is out of stock, or when there are only a few of them left and the person blocking my way grabs all of them. I love it when that person with a trolley full of shopping sees me heading for the till with only five items in my arms, and rushes to get there before me. I love being given a handful of change because the cashier doesn’t have any notes. I love not being able to move my car because a couple of shoppers have decided to stand around and have a conversation in front of it. I love the sound of my shopping falling over in the boot, and I love it when the bags split as I lift them out.
It’s no wonder women love shopping so much.
It’s no wonder women love shopping so much.
Monday, November 05, 2007
Full Toxie Head!
Well, I’m not sure what’s going on at the moment. Bizarre things always seem to happen to me at this time of year. Last year I lost my brain function and couldn’t drive or spell anymore. This year… I don’t know…
I accompanied Mr Man to another Table Tennis match on Sunday. After watching a ball flying around for three hours I usually begin to lose the will to live, but this time we were there for over six hours! I hate to say it but… I really enjoyed it – what’s going on?
And…
This evening I went to the shop for some milk. Now usually I would come home with various bars of chocolate (and probably forget the milk), but you know what? I didn’t buy any chocolate! Now I know there is something wrong!
What I did come home with though was some lovely sweeties! No, I’m not talking about Foxes Glacier Mints, Werther’s Originals, or some other hard boiled sweets designed for the over 60’s. I’m talking about the “hazardously sour candy” – Toxic Waste!
On the plastic pot reads:
How Long Can You Keep One in Your Mouth?
60 seconds – Full Toxie Head!
45 seconds – Toxie Wannabe!
30 seconds – Cry Baby!
15 seconds – Total Wuss!
Not knowing what to expect, Mr Man and I both popped one in our mouths at the same time to see who would be the first to spit it out! I’m very proud to announce that we both lasted 60 seconds and beyond!
So now it’s your turn! If you don’t try this out and tell me how long you managed to keep one in your mouth for I’ll presume that you were just too scared!
I accompanied Mr Man to another Table Tennis match on Sunday. After watching a ball flying around for three hours I usually begin to lose the will to live, but this time we were there for over six hours! I hate to say it but… I really enjoyed it – what’s going on?
And…
This evening I went to the shop for some milk. Now usually I would come home with various bars of chocolate (and probably forget the milk), but you know what? I didn’t buy any chocolate! Now I know there is something wrong!
What I did come home with though was some lovely sweeties! No, I’m not talking about Foxes Glacier Mints, Werther’s Originals, or some other hard boiled sweets designed for the over 60’s. I’m talking about the “hazardously sour candy” – Toxic Waste!
On the plastic pot reads:
How Long Can You Keep One in Your Mouth?
60 seconds – Full Toxie Head!
45 seconds – Toxie Wannabe!
30 seconds – Cry Baby!
15 seconds – Total Wuss!
Not knowing what to expect, Mr Man and I both popped one in our mouths at the same time to see who would be the first to spit it out! I’m very proud to announce that we both lasted 60 seconds and beyond!
So now it’s your turn! If you don’t try this out and tell me how long you managed to keep one in your mouth for I’ll presume that you were just too scared!
Thursday, November 01, 2007
World Domination – by Sat Navs
As mentioned previously, Grannys.Myth.Peeler is doing a grand job of peeling away the myths and lies of this world, even though some people may doubt the truthfulness of his tales. I for one am completely convinced of the truth of these accounts, having experienced similar situations myself.
Allow me to draw your attention to his post Will Robots Ever Have a Sense of Humour? Well yes, I believe they already do, but for those of us on the receiving end of their “humour” it’s rarely, if ever, funny. Consider this true life account:
We bought our Sat Nav a couple of years ago now. I should have known from the start that there was “something not quite right” when the female voice started giving me directions after I had specifically selected the male voice. So obviously, being the strong and determined woman that she is, she wasn’t impressed with me referring to her as “the bimbo on the dashboard”. I meant it as a joke, but women can be so touchy.
The problems started one night when I was driving to an unfamiliar area in the next town. She suddenly started giving me vague directions like “bear left” instead of “exit left” when I was on a dual carriage way. I was unimpressed. After much shouting on my part, along the lines of “You stupid Bimbo, what the hell does ‘bear left’ mean?” she decided to retaliate by taking me round a whole housing estate before finally directing me to my destination. I’m sure this road looks familiar... I kept thinking to myself. It must have taken about an hour just to get to the next town.
Directing me home she took me on a completely different route along dark country lanes. I had no idea where I was and I was starting to doubt the reliability of this thing.
“Bear right” she said eventually.
“Bear right? There’s only one lane!” I shrieked.
“Bear right” she said again.
In the dark I suddenly noticed a turning to the right, sign posted with the name of my home town. I slammed my foot on the brake and screached to a halt just before the turning. What happened to ‘turn right’? Once again she was being deliberately vague, but my journey home only took about 10 minutes compared to the hour it took me to get there! She was obviously making a point – I was dependant on her; completely at her mercy; in no position to be insulting her at all.
“Stupid Bimbo” I muttered.
“Continue for 26 miles” she told me on another recent trip, and then seconds later “Continue for 3 miles”.
“Make your bloomin’ mind up” I complained.
Further along the road she said “In point 6 miles exit left”. Now, I don’t know about you but personally, not being a human odometer, I don’t know how far 0.6 miles is of the top of my head.
(Of course the mathematical part of my brain is now telling me that there are 3600 seconds in one hour, so if I was driving at 70 mph it would have taken me 51.428571 seconds to drive one mile, which means 0.6 miles would take me 30.857143 seconds. But it would have taken me more than 30.857143 seconds to work that out, by which time I would have missed my exit.)
“Exit left” she reminded me as we approached the slip road, and then
“At the roundabout take the fifth exit”.
“Umm, but that’s going back the way we came…” Maybe I took the wrong exit off the motorway? I thought to myself. Dutifully I rejoined the motorway. About 3 miles down the road (which I’m guessing may have taken me approximately 2 minutes and 34.28571 seconds) she said:
“In point 6 miles exit left” and then
“At the roundabout take the fifth exit”…back onto the motorway again!
I could be driving up and down the motorway all day at this rate, I thought. Predictably, 3 miles down the road she tried to get me to leave the motorway at the same exit again!
“No! I’m not doing it!” I shouted.
“Exit left”
“No!”
“Exit left”
“I’m not playing your silly games anymore! I’ll find my own way home!”
I’m not sure if I heard her huff with annoyance, but once we had passed the exit she reluctantly gave me the correct directions:
“Continue straight for 23 miles”
We had reached a “stale mate”.
I wonder if she considers us “even” now. One thing is for sure – I won’t be calling her a bimbo again.
Allow me to draw your attention to his post Will Robots Ever Have a Sense of Humour? Well yes, I believe they already do, but for those of us on the receiving end of their “humour” it’s rarely, if ever, funny. Consider this true life account:
We bought our Sat Nav a couple of years ago now. I should have known from the start that there was “something not quite right” when the female voice started giving me directions after I had specifically selected the male voice. So obviously, being the strong and determined woman that she is, she wasn’t impressed with me referring to her as “the bimbo on the dashboard”. I meant it as a joke, but women can be so touchy.
The problems started one night when I was driving to an unfamiliar area in the next town. She suddenly started giving me vague directions like “bear left” instead of “exit left” when I was on a dual carriage way. I was unimpressed. After much shouting on my part, along the lines of “You stupid Bimbo, what the hell does ‘bear left’ mean?” she decided to retaliate by taking me round a whole housing estate before finally directing me to my destination. I’m sure this road looks familiar... I kept thinking to myself. It must have taken about an hour just to get to the next town.
Directing me home she took me on a completely different route along dark country lanes. I had no idea where I was and I was starting to doubt the reliability of this thing.
“Bear right” she said eventually.
“Bear right? There’s only one lane!” I shrieked.
“Bear right” she said again.
In the dark I suddenly noticed a turning to the right, sign posted with the name of my home town. I slammed my foot on the brake and screached to a halt just before the turning. What happened to ‘turn right’? Once again she was being deliberately vague, but my journey home only took about 10 minutes compared to the hour it took me to get there! She was obviously making a point – I was dependant on her; completely at her mercy; in no position to be insulting her at all.
“Stupid Bimbo” I muttered.
“Continue for 26 miles” she told me on another recent trip, and then seconds later “Continue for 3 miles”.
“Make your bloomin’ mind up” I complained.
Further along the road she said “In point 6 miles exit left”. Now, I don’t know about you but personally, not being a human odometer, I don’t know how far 0.6 miles is of the top of my head.
(Of course the mathematical part of my brain is now telling me that there are 3600 seconds in one hour, so if I was driving at 70 mph it would have taken me 51.428571 seconds to drive one mile, which means 0.6 miles would take me 30.857143 seconds. But it would have taken me more than 30.857143 seconds to work that out, by which time I would have missed my exit.)
“Exit left” she reminded me as we approached the slip road, and then
“At the roundabout take the fifth exit”.
“Umm, but that’s going back the way we came…” Maybe I took the wrong exit off the motorway? I thought to myself. Dutifully I rejoined the motorway. About 3 miles down the road (which I’m guessing may have taken me approximately 2 minutes and 34.28571 seconds) she said:
“In point 6 miles exit left” and then
“At the roundabout take the fifth exit”…back onto the motorway again!
I could be driving up and down the motorway all day at this rate, I thought. Predictably, 3 miles down the road she tried to get me to leave the motorway at the same exit again!
“No! I’m not doing it!” I shouted.
“Exit left”
“No!”
“Exit left”
“I’m not playing your silly games anymore! I’ll find my own way home!”
I’m not sure if I heard her huff with annoyance, but once we had passed the exit she reluctantly gave me the correct directions:
“Continue straight for 23 miles”
We had reached a “stale mate”.
I wonder if she considers us “even” now. One thing is for sure – I won’t be calling her a bimbo again.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
The Things We Do For Love
We snuggled up on the sofa together. It was a few minutes past midnight.
“Happy Anniversary” we said to each other.
“Thank you for marrying me” I continued.
“Thank you for marrying me” Mr Man replied.
“Well, thank you for having the courage to ask me! Or even the courage to tell me you liked me!” I argued.
We then recalled how our relationship began…
I’d known Mr Man since 1993. For him it was love at first sight. He used to meet me at work and walk me home sometimes, but it was a few years later when we really started to become friends. Mr Man was living with his mother at the time and they had been receiving silent calls at their home, which was more than a little unsettling for her.
A friend was visiting me one night when I decided to call Mr Man to invite him round for the evening. As I reached for my phone book my friend reeled off the number to me.
“How do you remember that?” I asked.
“I just have a head for numbers” she shrugged.
Hmm… very strange, I thought.
Later that evening when all my guests had left, including Mr Man, I could hardly wait to call him to tell him what had happened. I called him on his mobile phone. He hadn’t reached home yet so he pulled over into a side road.
“I think I know who your silent caller is” I blurted out, and I explained what had happened.
“Why would she keep calling our house?” he asked.
“It’s obvious; she likes you!” I exclaimed.
“Oh, that backfired a bit then” he mumbled.
“What do you mean?” I asked, confused.
“I was hoping for someone else to like me” he replied nervously.
“Who’s that?” I asked shyly.
“You” was his simple reply.
“Well, it didn’t backfire then did it?”
And so began ourridiculously high telephone bills romance on the 25th October 1996, as Mr Man sat freezing in his parked car and we chatted on the phone until the small hours. The things we do for love eh?
One year and two days later we were married, and the rest is history as they say. Today we celebrate our 10th wedding anniversary.
Incidentally, the silent calls stopped when I just happened to mention to my friend one day that the police were going to trace the calls.
What I love about Mr Man
“Happy Anniversary” we said to each other.
“Thank you for marrying me” I continued.
“Thank you for marrying me” Mr Man replied.
“Well, thank you for having the courage to ask me! Or even the courage to tell me you liked me!” I argued.
We then recalled how our relationship began…
I’d known Mr Man since 1993. For him it was love at first sight. He used to meet me at work and walk me home sometimes, but it was a few years later when we really started to become friends. Mr Man was living with his mother at the time and they had been receiving silent calls at their home, which was more than a little unsettling for her.
A friend was visiting me one night when I decided to call Mr Man to invite him round for the evening. As I reached for my phone book my friend reeled off the number to me.
“How do you remember that?” I asked.
“I just have a head for numbers” she shrugged.
Hmm… very strange, I thought.
Later that evening when all my guests had left, including Mr Man, I could hardly wait to call him to tell him what had happened. I called him on his mobile phone. He hadn’t reached home yet so he pulled over into a side road.
“I think I know who your silent caller is” I blurted out, and I explained what had happened.
“Why would she keep calling our house?” he asked.
“It’s obvious; she likes you!” I exclaimed.
“Oh, that backfired a bit then” he mumbled.
“What do you mean?” I asked, confused.
“I was hoping for someone else to like me” he replied nervously.
“Who’s that?” I asked shyly.
“You” was his simple reply.
“Well, it didn’t backfire then did it?”
And so began our
One year and two days later we were married, and the rest is history as they say. Today we celebrate our 10th wedding anniversary.
Incidentally, the silent calls stopped when I just happened to mention to my friend one day that the police were going to trace the calls.
What I love about Mr Man
Monday, October 15, 2007
Happy Days
Sunday, Monday, Happy Days! Tuesday, Wednesday, Happy Days! Thursday, Friday, Happy Days! Saturday, what a day! Rockin’ all week with you!
Yes, I’m back and full of beans! I’ve taken my Prozac*, had a bath, washed my hair, and even managed to get dressed before sun set.
Strangely… I’m really looking forward to my next opportunity of sitting in an unbearably uncomfortable chair and watching a ping pong ball fly around for three hours. And I’ve had the same incredibly irritating song going round in my head for over a week now, but I’m actually starting to enjoy it, which is a little worrying.
Today I have an unusual desire to go shopping. I know; I don’t understand it either. If I wasn’t so damn happy I’d be worried for two reasons:
1. It’s going to cost money, and
2. It’s unlikely that I will still be in a good mood by the time I return home.
But I’ll take my flexible friend with me and if anyone gets on my nerves I’ll just ping their nose with it. Or sing to them…
“I know a song that will get on your nerves, get on your nerves, get on your nerves, I know a song that will get on your nerves, get get get on your nerves…” Altogether now...
*I’m not actually taking Prozac, but you catch my drift.
Yes, I’m back and full of beans! I’ve taken my Prozac*, had a bath, washed my hair, and even managed to get dressed before sun set.
Strangely… I’m really looking forward to my next opportunity of sitting in an unbearably uncomfortable chair and watching a ping pong ball fly around for three hours. And I’ve had the same incredibly irritating song going round in my head for over a week now, but I’m actually starting to enjoy it, which is a little worrying.
Today I have an unusual desire to go shopping. I know; I don’t understand it either. If I wasn’t so damn happy I’d be worried for two reasons:
1. It’s going to cost money, and
2. It’s unlikely that I will still be in a good mood by the time I return home.
But I’ll take my flexible friend with me and if anyone gets on my nerves I’ll just ping their nose with it. Or sing to them…
“I know a song that will get on your nerves, get on your nerves, get on your nerves, I know a song that will get on your nerves, get get get on your nerves…” Altogether now...
*I’m not actually taking Prozac, but you catch my drift.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Back So Soon?
I accompanied Mr Man to a Table Tennis match tonight. I didn’t have much choice; I’m his chauffer and the match was too far away for me to drop him off and pick him up again later. I don’t get any extra pay for waiting around though.
So faced with three hours of watching a ping pong ball flying to and fro before my eyes, what else could I do but get out my pen and note pad?
Being in a permanent bad mood, as I am at the moment, I had absolutely no desire to talk to anyone and took an instant disliking to everyone I met. Well, everyone in the opposing team anyway.
The middle aged woman was far too chirpy and chatty for my liking. Don’t you find that when you feel like you want everyone to die you always want the happy ones to die first?
“I hope she doesn’t speak to me” I said to Mr Man.
At least when she played she wasn’t afraid to give credit where it was due to the opposing player, which is more than I can say for the young lad who was in their team.
I suppose he must have been in his late teens or early twenties. Spraying his bat with a fancy solution and using a specialised cloth to wipe it with, he obviously fancied himself as a serious player. Do you know what Mr Man uses? Gob. Yep, he spits on his bat and wipes it on his trousers* and that’s enough to give his bat the sticky surface he requires for his spiny shots.
This young lad was so incredibly confident of his own abilities; he oozed arrogance. He first played against our Rastafarian player, who is so laid back that when I first saw him play last week he was actually whistling. I’m sure that’s all part of his hustler routine. Picture the scene; an old man with a grey beard, turns up to play wearing a jumper and a woolly hat over his mass of locks. During warm up he moves slowly around the table and you’re not quite sure if that’s because of his age, his Jamaican “soon come” attitude, or the weight of his hair. The young, athletic looking player was obviously confident of an easy win and even during the warm up he smirked as he smashed the ball across the table and past our old Rasta man. Now that's just not cricket.
The game started and our Rasta player allowed his opponent to win the first few points before deciding it was time to play. Even Mr Man was fooled.
“I bet he smokes Marijuana” Mr Man said.
“You can’t be so prejudiced and stereotype people like that these days” I replied.
“Yeah, but I bet he does”
Whatever he lights in his spare time, tonight he was on fire at the table. As he won point after point I could see the young lads’ frustration growing, and finally he retreated back to his chair with his tail between his legs, after being beaten 3 - 0**.
The only player from the opposing team who seemed inoffensive to me and least likely to irritate was the round bald man who spoke with an Irish accent. But when he got up to play I didn’t know where to look to stop myself from laughing.
“What the hell was that?” I asked Mr Man, referring to the bald mans serve.
He looked like he was juggling a hot hard boiled egg between his bat and his free hand, and when he finally decided to hit it across the table he cocked his leg at the same time. I didn’t know if he was playing or peeing. So that brightened up my evening somewhat.
When it was Mr Mans turn to play the cocky young lad I whispered in his ear:
“Annihilate”
Ok, I know I said annihilate but 11 – 3** in the first game? I almost felt sorry for the boy. Almost.
Mr Man played a killer shot, right across the table to his far right. The lad nearly did the splits trying to reach it.
“That was mean” he said to Mr Man.
No, that’s Table Tennis.
The final outcome of the evening for the team was 10 – 0**. Is this the silver lining you were referring to Aiders?
*He's not the only player to do this I have learnt. Some of the top players in the county lick their bats like lolly pops. Eurgh. Where's the mouthwash?
**There are 3 players in each team, and they all play each other. Finally two players from each team play in the doubles, which brings the total number of games played to 10. In each game, the players play the best of 5 (or the first to 3). In each individual game, or “end” as they call it, the winner is the first to win 11 points by 2 clear points.
So faced with three hours of watching a ping pong ball flying to and fro before my eyes, what else could I do but get out my pen and note pad?
Being in a permanent bad mood, as I am at the moment, I had absolutely no desire to talk to anyone and took an instant disliking to everyone I met. Well, everyone in the opposing team anyway.
The middle aged woman was far too chirpy and chatty for my liking. Don’t you find that when you feel like you want everyone to die you always want the happy ones to die first?
“I hope she doesn’t speak to me” I said to Mr Man.
At least when she played she wasn’t afraid to give credit where it was due to the opposing player, which is more than I can say for the young lad who was in their team.
I suppose he must have been in his late teens or early twenties. Spraying his bat with a fancy solution and using a specialised cloth to wipe it with, he obviously fancied himself as a serious player. Do you know what Mr Man uses? Gob. Yep, he spits on his bat and wipes it on his trousers* and that’s enough to give his bat the sticky surface he requires for his spiny shots.
This young lad was so incredibly confident of his own abilities; he oozed arrogance. He first played against our Rastafarian player, who is so laid back that when I first saw him play last week he was actually whistling. I’m sure that’s all part of his hustler routine. Picture the scene; an old man with a grey beard, turns up to play wearing a jumper and a woolly hat over his mass of locks. During warm up he moves slowly around the table and you’re not quite sure if that’s because of his age, his Jamaican “soon come” attitude, or the weight of his hair. The young, athletic looking player was obviously confident of an easy win and even during the warm up he smirked as he smashed the ball across the table and past our old Rasta man. Now that's just not cricket.
The game started and our Rasta player allowed his opponent to win the first few points before deciding it was time to play. Even Mr Man was fooled.
“I bet he smokes Marijuana” Mr Man said.
“You can’t be so prejudiced and stereotype people like that these days” I replied.
“Yeah, but I bet he does”
Whatever he lights in his spare time, tonight he was on fire at the table. As he won point after point I could see the young lads’ frustration growing, and finally he retreated back to his chair with his tail between his legs, after being beaten 3 - 0**.
The only player from the opposing team who seemed inoffensive to me and least likely to irritate was the round bald man who spoke with an Irish accent. But when he got up to play I didn’t know where to look to stop myself from laughing.
“What the hell was that?” I asked Mr Man, referring to the bald mans serve.
He looked like he was juggling a hot hard boiled egg between his bat and his free hand, and when he finally decided to hit it across the table he cocked his leg at the same time. I didn’t know if he was playing or peeing. So that brightened up my evening somewhat.
When it was Mr Mans turn to play the cocky young lad I whispered in his ear:
“Annihilate”
Ok, I know I said annihilate but 11 – 3** in the first game? I almost felt sorry for the boy. Almost.
Mr Man played a killer shot, right across the table to his far right. The lad nearly did the splits trying to reach it.
“That was mean” he said to Mr Man.
No, that’s Table Tennis.
The final outcome of the evening for the team was 10 – 0**. Is this the silver lining you were referring to Aiders?
*He's not the only player to do this I have learnt. Some of the top players in the county lick their bats like lolly pops. Eurgh. Where's the mouthwash?
**There are 3 players in each team, and they all play each other. Finally two players from each team play in the doubles, which brings the total number of games played to 10. In each game, the players play the best of 5 (or the first to 3). In each individual game, or “end” as they call it, the winner is the first to win 11 points by 2 clear points.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
World Domination – by Mice
Grannys.Myth.Peeler really is a myth peeler. He peels away the layers of falsehoods to reveal the truth to his readers. Many people may think of him as a paranoid, slightly delusional, conspiracy theorist – or a fruit cake in layman’s terms - but let me tell you, never has a man been so accurate in his explanations of the inexplicable.
Take his story The Giant Mouse That Saved the World for example. Ok, there was no giant mouse; he turned out to be a Ginger Tom, but the little guy (who was a mouse) had everything planned out and was ready to take on the whole world – until he got eaten by the Ginger Tom of course. What does this prove? Only that cats are bigger than mice, but who has the brains eh? Consider this true life account:
I was talking to my brother the other day, and he was telling me how he discovered that mice are taking over his garage. He said he noticed the first mouse when he reached up to get a bag of rabbit food from a shelf and the mouse fell out of a hole in the bag! Screaming like girl (as frightened men do) he ran to safety. “This is war” he decided, and promptly went out to buy a mouse trap.
He proceeded to tell me how he laid the trap, not with cheese (which is another myth) but with chocolate. He checked the next day, and sure enough, there was a dead mouse in his trap. Developing a lust for blood he set the trap again and could hardly wait until the next morning to see if he had caught another mouse. However, the mice had already wised up to this trick, and had removed the chocolate without getting caught.
“Oh, so you’re a wise guy eh? We’ll see about that!” he hissed, and this time he set the trap with sticky chocolate caramel. Sure enough, the next day he found another dead mouse. With an evil laugh he set the trap again and waited…
But nothing could have prepared him for what he found the next day, or more to the point, what he didn’t find. There was no sticky chocolate caramel… there was no dead mouse… but there was no mouse trap either.
Believing that the mouse must have ran away with his leg trapped in the mouse trap, he searched his entire garage, but found nothing. Slightly baffled, he took himself off to the shops to buy another trap.
Now if the missing trap didn’t unsettle him slightly, what he came back to completely filled him with horror. He went back into his garage to set another trap when he noticed, there in the middle of the garage floor… the missing mouse trap! The mice were playing games with him!
“They’re going to get me for killing their brothers!” he wailed, and ran inside his house and locked all the doors and windows.
Nervously he told me his tale over the telephone. While we were talking we heard a strange clicking noise, like when someone picks up the telephone extension.
“Was that you?” I asked.
“No, we don’t have an extension” he replied “wasn’t it you?” he asked.
“No, we don’t have an extension either…”
“It’s the mice! They’re taking over the world I tell you!”
Well, that will teach him to play with thebig little but brainy boys.
Don’t mess with mice. You have been warned!
Coming next: World Domination – by Sat Navs
Take his story The Giant Mouse That Saved the World for example. Ok, there was no giant mouse; he turned out to be a Ginger Tom, but the little guy (who was a mouse) had everything planned out and was ready to take on the whole world – until he got eaten by the Ginger Tom of course. What does this prove? Only that cats are bigger than mice, but who has the brains eh? Consider this true life account:
I was talking to my brother the other day, and he was telling me how he discovered that mice are taking over his garage. He said he noticed the first mouse when he reached up to get a bag of rabbit food from a shelf and the mouse fell out of a hole in the bag! Screaming like girl (as frightened men do) he ran to safety. “This is war” he decided, and promptly went out to buy a mouse trap.
He proceeded to tell me how he laid the trap, not with cheese (which is another myth) but with chocolate. He checked the next day, and sure enough, there was a dead mouse in his trap. Developing a lust for blood he set the trap again and could hardly wait until the next morning to see if he had caught another mouse. However, the mice had already wised up to this trick, and had removed the chocolate without getting caught.
“Oh, so you’re a wise guy eh? We’ll see about that!” he hissed, and this time he set the trap with sticky chocolate caramel. Sure enough, the next day he found another dead mouse. With an evil laugh he set the trap again and waited…
But nothing could have prepared him for what he found the next day, or more to the point, what he didn’t find. There was no sticky chocolate caramel… there was no dead mouse… but there was no mouse trap either.
Believing that the mouse must have ran away with his leg trapped in the mouse trap, he searched his entire garage, but found nothing. Slightly baffled, he took himself off to the shops to buy another trap.
Now if the missing trap didn’t unsettle him slightly, what he came back to completely filled him with horror. He went back into his garage to set another trap when he noticed, there in the middle of the garage floor… the missing mouse trap! The mice were playing games with him!
“They’re going to get me for killing their brothers!” he wailed, and ran inside his house and locked all the doors and windows.
Nervously he told me his tale over the telephone. While we were talking we heard a strange clicking noise, like when someone picks up the telephone extension.
“Was that you?” I asked.
“No, we don’t have an extension” he replied “wasn’t it you?” he asked.
“No, we don’t have an extension either…”
“It’s the mice! They’re taking over the world I tell you!”
Well, that will teach him to play with the
Don’t mess with mice. You have been warned!
Coming next: World Domination – by Sat Navs
Monday, October 01, 2007
Hello and Welcome
If you have come here via Inspector Gadgets post “Shut Up and Drive” and you are looking for something relating to Mental Health, then you might like to visit my other blog.
Thanks for visiting.
Thanks for visiting.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Trouble and Strife – Mr Man and his Wife
It’s started. The cold weather has rolled in and poor Mr Man won’t get any peace until spring.
He’ll lie in bed with only enough duvet to just about cover one leg, and then he’ll hear a little voice squeak from inside the cocoon lying next to him; “I’m cold! There’s a draft! I can feel a draft!”
Either that or he’ll wake to find himself hanging off the edge of the bed.
“You’re pushing me out of bed!”
“But there’s a draft! I’m trying to cuddle up to stop the drafts”
“But I’m falling out! Move over”
“But there’s a draft! I can feel a draft!”
And heaven forbid if he turns over in the night.
“Stop flapping the covers about! There’s a draft! I can feel a draft!”
Imagine that every night for the next six months. It’s a wonder he’s never bought a sleeping bag for me – one with a draw string around the neck!
He’ll lie in bed with only enough duvet to just about cover one leg, and then he’ll hear a little voice squeak from inside the cocoon lying next to him; “I’m cold! There’s a draft! I can feel a draft!”
Either that or he’ll wake to find himself hanging off the edge of the bed.
“You’re pushing me out of bed!”
“But there’s a draft! I’m trying to cuddle up to stop the drafts”
“But I’m falling out! Move over”
“But there’s a draft! I can feel a draft!”
And heaven forbid if he turns over in the night.
“Stop flapping the covers about! There’s a draft! I can feel a draft!”
Imagine that every night for the next six months. It’s a wonder he’s never bought a sleeping bag for me – one with a draw string around the neck!
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Today’s Top Tip
When you’re feeling extremely stressed deep breathing exercises may or may not help. But I strongly recommend a box of Thornton’s chocolates (the Continental ones of course).
Oh yes. In a situation like this you need quality and quantity.
Oh yes. In a situation like this you need quality and quantity.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Love Today
A single from the album “Life in Cartoon Motion” by Mika. It reached number 6 in the UK charts in 2007.
You must be kidding – I hate today. I am so stressed I feel like my head is going to explode right off my shoulders.
Feeling absolutely exhausted after a sleepless night, I just scraped my unwashed hair back into a pony tail and threw on some sloppy joes to pop into town this afternoon. But deciding which sloppy joes was a nightmare! What sort of stupid weather are we having at the moment? How do you dress for this time of year? Looking out of the window it seemed like it was blowing a gale outside, so I decided to go into town wearing a jumper. Surely that would be cooler than wearing a jacket…?
So with unwashed hair, and feeling extremely hot, flustered, and sloppy, I go about my business in town. Why do I always bump into someone I know when I look and feel like an absolute minger?* How embarrassing is that?
I decided to go into the “Pound Shop”. Every town probably has one. You know the ones; every item in the shop is £1. “Yes that’s right! Every item is just £1!” says the over enthusiastic voice over the tannoy as you walk around the store. One shopper pointed to an item on a shelf, and grabbing the attention of a shop assistant asked:
“Excuse me, how much is that?”
Yes, people really are that stupid in this town.
I go into another shop and whilst searching for my diet Pepsi I notice a shop assistant looking very important with her clipboard and pen, obviously supervising stock control in the store.
“Excuse me” (we’re very polite in this country apparently) “do you have any diet Pepsi?” I ask.
“I’m sorry, we don’t at the moment” she replies.
“That’s ok. Thanks anyway” I say, and as I turn the corner into the next isle I come face to face with a shelf full of diet Pepsi…
I tend to get rather stressed when I’m shopping, and when I’m stressed I have personal space issues. I can’t even stand people walking past me or being in the same isle; it makes me want to scream at people “Just get away from me! You have the whole damn store to shop in; why do you have to stand in the same isle as me?” I swear I’m going to freak out in a store one day and end up getting myself arrested. Ok, when I’m feeling sane I realise that this is a little over the top, but when is it ever acceptable to stand so close to someone in a queue that you brush against them?
So it was just another ordinary day really. Lack of sleep; feeling exhausted; stupid people everywhere; people trying to walk through me; people standing too close to me; and bottles of pop rolling around on the floor.
Nothing much to love if you ask me.
*The Urban Dictionary also describes Minger this way:
Nice huh? So I’m either a septic vagina or I’m a Chav. At least I know how to use a spell checker.
You must be kidding – I hate today. I am so stressed I feel like my head is going to explode right off my shoulders.
Feeling absolutely exhausted after a sleepless night, I just scraped my unwashed hair back into a pony tail and threw on some sloppy joes to pop into town this afternoon. But deciding which sloppy joes was a nightmare! What sort of stupid weather are we having at the moment? How do you dress for this time of year? Looking out of the window it seemed like it was blowing a gale outside, so I decided to go into town wearing a jumper. Surely that would be cooler than wearing a jacket…?
So with unwashed hair, and feeling extremely hot, flustered, and sloppy, I go about my business in town. Why do I always bump into someone I know when I look and feel like an absolute minger?* How embarrassing is that?
I decided to go into the “Pound Shop”. Every town probably has one. You know the ones; every item in the shop is £1. “Yes that’s right! Every item is just £1!” says the over enthusiastic voice over the tannoy as you walk around the store. One shopper pointed to an item on a shelf, and grabbing the attention of a shop assistant asked:
“Excuse me, how much is that?”
Yes, people really are that stupid in this town.
I go into another shop and whilst searching for my diet Pepsi I notice a shop assistant looking very important with her clipboard and pen, obviously supervising stock control in the store.
“Excuse me” (we’re very polite in this country apparently) “do you have any diet Pepsi?” I ask.
“I’m sorry, we don’t at the moment” she replies.
“That’s ok. Thanks anyway” I say, and as I turn the corner into the next isle I come face to face with a shelf full of diet Pepsi…
I tend to get rather stressed when I’m shopping, and when I’m stressed I have personal space issues. I can’t even stand people walking past me or being in the same isle; it makes me want to scream at people “Just get away from me! You have the whole damn store to shop in; why do you have to stand in the same isle as me?” I swear I’m going to freak out in a store one day and end up getting myself arrested. Ok, when I’m feeling sane I realise that this is a little over the top, but when is it ever acceptable to stand so close to someone in a queue that you brush against them?
So it was just another ordinary day really. Lack of sleep; feeling exhausted; stupid people everywhere; people trying to walk through me; people standing too close to me; and bottles of pop rolling around on the floor.
Nothing much to love if you ask me.
*The Urban Dictionary also describes Minger this way:
“Although now more commonly used to define an extremely visually challanging appearance, the word minger originally came from scottish gaelic, meaning 'septic vagina'.Spelling mistakes and lack of capitalization courtesy of Urban Dictionary.
Now often used by chavs all over Britain to define anything remotely disgusting”
Nice huh? So I’m either a septic vagina or I’m a Chav. At least I know how to use a spell checker.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Am I Really Here?
“I think, therefore I am” - So said French Philosopher René Descartes, although he said it in French, obviously.
Is this statement really true? Can we really say that because we think we must exist? What if we only exist in someone elses imagination? What if we only exist in our own imagination? What if I’m really just a brain in a pickling jar, covered in dust in a laboratory somewhere, and in my imagination I believe I am sitting at my laptop typing these questions?
Foolish reasoning?
Then why the hell do people keep trying to walk through me like I don’t exist?!
Is this statement really true? Can we really say that because we think we must exist? What if we only exist in someone elses imagination? What if we only exist in our own imagination? What if I’m really just a brain in a pickling jar, covered in dust in a laboratory somewhere, and in my imagination I believe I am sitting at my laptop typing these questions?
Foolish reasoning?
Then why the hell do people keep trying to walk through me like I don’t exist?!
Monday, September 17, 2007
Fashion Statement
Feeling the chill of mid September air on my bare arms, my eyes were drawn to a cosy looking cardigan in a shop window. I promptly stepped inside to check the rail for my size.
At the checkout the woman made friendly small talk.
“It’s a lovely cardigan isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s perfect. It will go with virtually all the colours in my wardrobe” I replied “…turquoise, purple, brown…” I continued.
“And it will go with black” the shop assistant chipped in.
No kidding Einstein. Is there any colour that doesn’t go with black? Where do they find these people?
At the checkout the woman made friendly small talk.
“It’s a lovely cardigan isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s perfect. It will go with virtually all the colours in my wardrobe” I replied “…turquoise, purple, brown…” I continued.
“And it will go with black” the shop assistant chipped in.
No kidding Einstein. Is there any colour that doesn’t go with black? Where do they find these people?
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Road Rage
I actually quite like driving. It’s only other stupid road users that make the experience an unpleasant one, but give me an open road and some good music and I’m away. I quite like night driving for this very reason; most spongly bongle brains have gone home by then. I say most; there’s always some nelly who insists on driving at 25 mph through fear of accidentally going over 30 - even though the speed limit is actually 40 - or a Michael Schumacher wannabe almost pushing me along with his bumper.
But the most annoying road users have to be those stupid teenagers who ride around on those irritatingly noisy death traps they call “mini bikes”. Now, don’t get me wrong; I’m sure they are fantastic fun to ride on, but these things must have their place, and the road is not one of them – especially at night.
In the day time they ride around on the path or on the green where there are younger children playing - how long before one of them get seriously hurt? At night they ride on the road with no helmet and no lights, where unsuspecting motorists (i.e. me) risk accidentally killing one of them (which probably wouldn’t be a bad idea actually).
This summer the police have been trying to clamp down on these nuisance bikers, issuing fines and crushing the bikes into casino dice. (Why not crush them with the rider still on top, thus preventing any future offences?)
Trying to be a useful citizen I called the police one day to report nuisance bikers in our road. The lady kept me on the phone for ages asking for a description of the rider:
“What’s the colour of the bike?”
I don’t know; I can’t see it! It’s tiny and there’s someone sitting on it!
“What’s the hair colour of the rider?”
Err... he's blonde.
(Much tapping on a keyboard, reminiscent of that scene in “Meet the Parents” at the airport)
“What’s he wearing?”
Umm... white t-shirt, black bottoms, white stripes down the sides. He’s there now! I can see him through my window!
(More tapping on the keyboard)
“How old is he?”
I don’t know! Do you want me to go and ask him for his date of birth or something?
“And he’s got blonde hair you say?”
Yes! He’s there! He’s out there right now!
(More tapping)
“Do you know his name?”
What?
“Or where he lives?”
Blimey, do you want his eye colour as well? Why would I know anything about the yobs that live in my area? I thought that part was your job.*
I kept thinking: if you just send someone out they’ll be able to see what he looks like for themselves. Eventually our call came to an end:
“And he’s wearing a white t-shirt and black bottoms with white stripes down the sides?”
(Exasperated now) Yes!
(Yet more tapping)
“Ok, we’ll send someone out”
There’s no point love; he’s probably gone home for Christmas by now...
After I nearly ran one of them over the other night I called the police again. This time the gentleman I spoke to at the police call centre was much more efficient, helpful, and reassuring.
“Don’t you worry yourself; they know they’re in the wrong. It’s their own fault if they get hurt”
It was nice of him to say so, but it would still be traumatic to actually run someone over and have to wait for the results of an investigation. I know, because my brother has been through it himself.
The problem is no one wants to take on the responsibility of providing an area for these Kamikaze bikers to ride in. Surely if one of these delicate little petals was to seriously injure themselves, then their loving parents - who bought the contraption for them after careful thought and deliberation - would be in an uproar and would surely sue whoever was stupid enough to provide them with an area where they could ride without being a risk to the general public.
So I have to agree with the gentleman on the phone:
“Whoever invented those things should be shot”
*Not a true account of our conversation, mostly just what I was thinking.
But the most annoying road users have to be those stupid teenagers who ride around on those irritatingly noisy death traps they call “mini bikes”. Now, don’t get me wrong; I’m sure they are fantastic fun to ride on, but these things must have their place, and the road is not one of them – especially at night.
In the day time they ride around on the path or on the green where there are younger children playing - how long before one of them get seriously hurt? At night they ride on the road with no helmet and no lights, where unsuspecting motorists (i.e. me) risk accidentally killing one of them (which probably wouldn’t be a bad idea actually).
This summer the police have been trying to clamp down on these nuisance bikers, issuing fines and crushing the bikes into casino dice. (Why not crush them with the rider still on top, thus preventing any future offences?)
Trying to be a useful citizen I called the police one day to report nuisance bikers in our road. The lady kept me on the phone for ages asking for a description of the rider:
“What’s the colour of the bike?”
I don’t know; I can’t see it! It’s tiny and there’s someone sitting on it!
“What’s the hair colour of the rider?”
Err... he's blonde.
(Much tapping on a keyboard, reminiscent of that scene in “Meet the Parents” at the airport)
“What’s he wearing?”
Umm... white t-shirt, black bottoms, white stripes down the sides. He’s there now! I can see him through my window!
(More tapping on the keyboard)
“How old is he?”
I don’t know! Do you want me to go and ask him for his date of birth or something?
“And he’s got blonde hair you say?”
Yes! He’s there! He’s out there right now!
(More tapping)
“Do you know his name?”
What?
“Or where he lives?”
Blimey, do you want his eye colour as well? Why would I know anything about the yobs that live in my area? I thought that part was your job.*
I kept thinking: if you just send someone out they’ll be able to see what he looks like for themselves. Eventually our call came to an end:
“And he’s wearing a white t-shirt and black bottoms with white stripes down the sides?”
(Exasperated now) Yes!
(Yet more tapping)
“Ok, we’ll send someone out”
There’s no point love; he’s probably gone home for Christmas by now...
After I nearly ran one of them over the other night I called the police again. This time the gentleman I spoke to at the police call centre was much more efficient, helpful, and reassuring.
“Don’t you worry yourself; they know they’re in the wrong. It’s their own fault if they get hurt”
It was nice of him to say so, but it would still be traumatic to actually run someone over and have to wait for the results of an investigation. I know, because my brother has been through it himself.
The problem is no one wants to take on the responsibility of providing an area for these Kamikaze bikers to ride in. Surely if one of these delicate little petals was to seriously injure themselves, then their loving parents - who bought the contraption for them after careful thought and deliberation - would be in an uproar and would surely sue whoever was stupid enough to provide them with an area where they could ride without being a risk to the general public.
So I have to agree with the gentleman on the phone:
“Whoever invented those things should be shot”
*Not a true account of our conversation, mostly just what I was thinking.
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat, Where Have You Been?
“I’ve been to London to look at the queen”
Pussy-cat, pussy-cat, what did you there?
“I frightened a little mouse under the chair”
I travelled to London on Friday with my Curly Haired Friend. It’s something we had planned quite a while ago; not for sight seeing or shopping but to go to the M.A.D (Making a Difference) Art Installation at the Draywalk Gallery.
“We’re cultured we are” my Curly Haired Friend said to me the day we made the plans. Yeah, like bacteria in a Petri dish.
Having become accustomed, as I have, to meeting stupid people wherever I go, most of the day had a surreal quality about it. I’ve never met so many damn happy and polite people in my life. Complete strangers smiled and wished me farewell as I left the train. And what is it with all these free news papers being handed out at every street corner? As I looked around at the homeless-free clean streets I must admit I wondered if we had got off the train on another planet.
“Are we in London?” I asked my Curly Haired Cultured Friend.
My previous memories of London were busy, dirty streets; full of freaky people pushing and shoving; and homeless people tugging on my heart strings at every corner. This time the experience was more pleasant than a trip into the hostile town centre of the Country Bumpkin town I live in.
But it didn’t last; it never lasts. We were refused permission to board the 4.30 train with our off-peak tickets after missing the last off-peak train due to the tubes being stopped…
On the tube it was announced that two other lines had been closed due to “radio failure”, so we had to wait for others to climb aboard. Finally we were moving, but it wasn’t long before this tube stopped as well, with the driver announcing:
“I’m not sure, but I think there’s another tube ahead…”
I looked at my Curly Haired Friend and laughed:
“What sort of announcement is that?”
Then he continued:
“Well, I wanted to stay in Liverpool Street, but the Fat Controller* wanted me to move on…” he began. Blimey, I thought he was going to give us his life story. There was no head on collision and finally we were moving again, but it’s these events that led to us missing our train back to Bumpkin town.
The Female Fat Controller at St Pancras was very unsympathetic.
“Well, you’ll just have to buy another ticket”
“But it’s not our fault” my Curly Haired Angry Friend protested.
“And I haven’t got any money” I added.
“Well you’ll have to go to a cash point and get some then”
I was stunned at this response. For some of us, a cash point isn’t an endless supply of money. Luckily for both of us, the hormone problems I had a few months ago which made me experience intense rage had settled down. I just looked at her in disbelief. Finally she suggested we go to the ticket office to see what they could do for us there.
The man at the ticket office was friendly and sympathetic, but sadly unhelpful. He suggested we go to Kings Cross and ask for help there.
My Curly Haired Friend kindly offered to deal with the problem at Kings Cross, whilst I rested for a few minutes, and the man at the ticket office there suggested that we go to Thames Link, as that was the head office or something, and ask for help there.
The man at Thames Link wasn’t only unsympathetic; he was arrogant and irritating.
“The tubes are nothing to do with us, we have no responsibility for them at all; you’ll either have to buy another ticket, or wait until after 7pm”
He didn’t tell us anything we hadn’t heard already, but it was the way he said it.
“I hope you die” I told him before I walked away (as you do), although it lacked the venom he deserved. Why do so many people who work with the public lack basic people skills?
Eventually we resigned ourselves to the fact that we would have to wait until after 7pm to travel home again. We found ourselves a friendly little café (which had flies on the food) to sit in, and had a drink.
I didn’t see the Queen, or any mice for that matter, but despite the Female Fat Controller, and the Thames Link ticket office man, we had a really nice day.
*He didn’t actually call him the Fat Controller.
Pussy-cat, pussy-cat, what did you there?
“I frightened a little mouse under the chair”
I travelled to London on Friday with my Curly Haired Friend. It’s something we had planned quite a while ago; not for sight seeing or shopping but to go to the M.A.D (Making a Difference) Art Installation at the Draywalk Gallery.
“We’re cultured we are” my Curly Haired Friend said to me the day we made the plans. Yeah, like bacteria in a Petri dish.
Having become accustomed, as I have, to meeting stupid people wherever I go, most of the day had a surreal quality about it. I’ve never met so many damn happy and polite people in my life. Complete strangers smiled and wished me farewell as I left the train. And what is it with all these free news papers being handed out at every street corner? As I looked around at the homeless-free clean streets I must admit I wondered if we had got off the train on another planet.
“Are we in London?” I asked my Curly Haired Cultured Friend.
My previous memories of London were busy, dirty streets; full of freaky people pushing and shoving; and homeless people tugging on my heart strings at every corner. This time the experience was more pleasant than a trip into the hostile town centre of the Country Bumpkin town I live in.
But it didn’t last; it never lasts. We were refused permission to board the 4.30 train with our off-peak tickets after missing the last off-peak train due to the tubes being stopped…
On the tube it was announced that two other lines had been closed due to “radio failure”, so we had to wait for others to climb aboard. Finally we were moving, but it wasn’t long before this tube stopped as well, with the driver announcing:
“I’m not sure, but I think there’s another tube ahead…”
I looked at my Curly Haired Friend and laughed:
“What sort of announcement is that?”
Then he continued:
“Well, I wanted to stay in Liverpool Street, but the Fat Controller* wanted me to move on…” he began. Blimey, I thought he was going to give us his life story. There was no head on collision and finally we were moving again, but it’s these events that led to us missing our train back to Bumpkin town.
The Female Fat Controller at St Pancras was very unsympathetic.
“Well, you’ll just have to buy another ticket”
“But it’s not our fault” my Curly Haired Angry Friend protested.
“And I haven’t got any money” I added.
“Well you’ll have to go to a cash point and get some then”
I was stunned at this response. For some of us, a cash point isn’t an endless supply of money. Luckily for both of us, the hormone problems I had a few months ago which made me experience intense rage had settled down. I just looked at her in disbelief. Finally she suggested we go to the ticket office to see what they could do for us there.
The man at the ticket office was friendly and sympathetic, but sadly unhelpful. He suggested we go to Kings Cross and ask for help there.
My Curly Haired Friend kindly offered to deal with the problem at Kings Cross, whilst I rested for a few minutes, and the man at the ticket office there suggested that we go to Thames Link, as that was the head office or something, and ask for help there.
The man at Thames Link wasn’t only unsympathetic; he was arrogant and irritating.
“The tubes are nothing to do with us, we have no responsibility for them at all; you’ll either have to buy another ticket, or wait until after 7pm”
He didn’t tell us anything we hadn’t heard already, but it was the way he said it.
“I hope you die” I told him before I walked away (as you do), although it lacked the venom he deserved. Why do so many people who work with the public lack basic people skills?
Eventually we resigned ourselves to the fact that we would have to wait until after 7pm to travel home again. We found ourselves a friendly little café (which had flies on the food) to sit in, and had a drink.
I didn’t see the Queen, or any mice for that matter, but despite the Female Fat Controller, and the Thames Link ticket office man, we had a really nice day.
*He didn’t actually call him the Fat Controller.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
TODAY’S HEADLINE NEWS
ADDITIVES ‘CAUSE BAD BEHAVIOUR’
Am I caught in a time warp? I thought we’d worked that one out 25 years ago, along with the knowledge that humans are responsible for climate change, but apparently this is “news”.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Trouble and Strife – Mr Man and his Wife
It’s our wedding anniversary next month. I can’t wait; it’s always an exciting opportunity to learn something new about Mr Man. It’s a standing joke in our house that I always find out something I never knew about him on our anniversary. I remember we had been married for a whole year before I found out he liked onions, and two years before I knew he liked mushrooms.
A couple of years ago we were out in the car together and I was singing along with the stereo. I got the words wrong and tutted: “They’ve changed the words again”. Now this is something I have been saying for as long as I can remember – long before Mr Man and I married. He turned around and said to me: “It really irritates me when you say that”.
“What? I’ve been irritating you for the past 8 years and you’ve only just decided to tell me?”
Well, I laughed and laughed, and when I told my friend we both fell about laughing for ages. It still makes me laugh now.
“Alright, settle down” says Mr Man.
A couple of years ago we were out in the car together and I was singing along with the stereo. I got the words wrong and tutted: “They’ve changed the words again”. Now this is something I have been saying for as long as I can remember – long before Mr Man and I married. He turned around and said to me: “It really irritates me when you say that”.
“What? I’ve been irritating you for the past 8 years and you’ve only just decided to tell me?”
Well, I laughed and laughed, and when I told my friend we both fell about laughing for ages. It still makes me laugh now.
“Alright, settle down” says Mr Man.
Friday, August 31, 2007
365 Not Out
My first blogging anniversary and my 100th post!
Well, here I am, one year on since I first started blogging. With 100 posts on this blog, 63 posts between the other 2 blogs, and a list as long as your arm of unfinished, unstarted, or otherwise unpublished blog posts still to come, obviously I have far too much to say for myself.
I sometimes wondered if I would make it this far. Sometimes blogging has been mentally exhausting; other times emotionally draining. At times I couldn’t help but wonder if this writing phase would last or if I would simply dry up and run out of things to say. But here I am.
Some of my blogging highlights from the past year include:
• Receiving my first comment
• Receiving my first link from another blog
• Receiving my first email regarding my blog
• Having specific posts highly esteemed and linked to by others
• Having an incredible artist agree to illustrate one of my blogs
Reading the blogs of others has also been rewarding – when I’ve managed to keep up! The Blogosphere is ever revolving and never rests for a second. Someone somewhere is always writing a post; the pace is exhausting. I have read posts that have made me howl with laughter, and posts that have made me cry. Mostly blogs serve to give you a fascinating insight into the world of others, whether it be about their work, their health, or their family life – blogs are the ultimate fly-on-the-wall documentaries.
I have to say that for various reasons blogging is a journey of self discovery too. When writing on a particular subject, you tend to examine your own feelings on the matter, whether you choose to reveal those feelings in your post or not. Undoubtedly, each blogger gives away a part of themselves with each post they write.
Hmm… I guess I should now write a list of goals for the following year – kind of like new blog year resolutions. Well, I daren’t tie myself down to anything, but I hope the next year will be more of a steady flow of posts and less spasmodic.
So now, on with the show!
Well, here I am, one year on since I first started blogging. With 100 posts on this blog, 63 posts between the other 2 blogs, and a list as long as your arm of unfinished, unstarted, or otherwise unpublished blog posts still to come, obviously I have far too much to say for myself.
I sometimes wondered if I would make it this far. Sometimes blogging has been mentally exhausting; other times emotionally draining. At times I couldn’t help but wonder if this writing phase would last or if I would simply dry up and run out of things to say. But here I am.
Some of my blogging highlights from the past year include:
• Receiving my first comment
• Receiving my first link from another blog
• Receiving my first email regarding my blog
• Having specific posts highly esteemed and linked to by others
• Having an incredible artist agree to illustrate one of my blogs
Reading the blogs of others has also been rewarding – when I’ve managed to keep up! The Blogosphere is ever revolving and never rests for a second. Someone somewhere is always writing a post; the pace is exhausting. I have read posts that have made me howl with laughter, and posts that have made me cry. Mostly blogs serve to give you a fascinating insight into the world of others, whether it be about their work, their health, or their family life – blogs are the ultimate fly-on-the-wall documentaries.
I have to say that for various reasons blogging is a journey of self discovery too. When writing on a particular subject, you tend to examine your own feelings on the matter, whether you choose to reveal those feelings in your post or not. Undoubtedly, each blogger gives away a part of themselves with each post they write.
Hmm… I guess I should now write a list of goals for the following year – kind of like new blog year resolutions. Well, I daren’t tie myself down to anything, but I hope the next year will be more of a steady flow of posts and less spasmodic.
So now, on with the show!
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
A Drink’s Too Wet Without One
The slogan used in a British TV commercial for Rich Tea biscuits.
I’m aware that more and more of my posts are about food these days. I’m not sure why that is. Maybe it’s because I’m obsessed with food, and like a lot of comedians I like to make light of my weaknesses - and after all, I am a comedian.
There’s nothing really very funny to say about food though is there? There’s the old worn out joke “What’s the fastest cake in the world? – Scone” but depending on your pronunciation of the word “scone” it may or may not even make any sense, let alone be funny.
I wrote a very depressing post the other night about weight issues, which thankfully I decided not to post. I suppose this partly explains why there has been a lack of posts recently – because I write posts and then not post them – but there are other reasons too.
One is that I don’t know where all my time is going. I’m either asleep or in a trance staring at my computer screen, and it takes me about an hour to write just a few sentences, so when I have emails to write as well that’s more or less my whole day gone.
The other reason is that it is my blogging anniversary at the end of the month, and I really want to post my 100th post on my blogging anniversary! I know; that’s so ridiculously punctilious of me, but there you go, that’s how I am sometimes.
You see? I’m so obsessed with food that I’ve swallowed my own dictionary.
I’m aware that more and more of my posts are about food these days. I’m not sure why that is. Maybe it’s because I’m obsessed with food, and like a lot of comedians I like to make light of my weaknesses - and after all, I am a comedian.
There’s nothing really very funny to say about food though is there? There’s the old worn out joke “What’s the fastest cake in the world? – Scone” but depending on your pronunciation of the word “scone” it may or may not even make any sense, let alone be funny.
I wrote a very depressing post the other night about weight issues, which thankfully I decided not to post. I suppose this partly explains why there has been a lack of posts recently – because I write posts and then not post them – but there are other reasons too.
One is that I don’t know where all my time is going. I’m either asleep or in a trance staring at my computer screen, and it takes me about an hour to write just a few sentences, so when I have emails to write as well that’s more or less my whole day gone.
The other reason is that it is my blogging anniversary at the end of the month, and I really want to post my 100th post on my blogging anniversary! I know; that’s so ridiculously punctilious of me, but there you go, that’s how I am sometimes.
You see? I’m so obsessed with food that I’ve swallowed my own dictionary.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Do You Ever Get The Feeling…
…that you’re missing something?
As I stood in the queue tonight to pay for my shopping at the local supermarket, I noticed that the man in front of me had a trolley full of tea bags.
“Hmm… he must run some kind of community group” I thought.
Then I noticed the man behind me. His trolley was full of light bulbs.
Very strange…
As I stood in the queue tonight to pay for my shopping at the local supermarket, I noticed that the man in front of me had a trolley full of tea bags.
“Hmm… he must run some kind of community group” I thought.
Then I noticed the man behind me. His trolley was full of light bulbs.
Very strange…
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Fight Night
Today I can hear a bit of cluttering around next door; no doubt clearing up after last nights fight.
“Did she just shout “help”?” Mr Man asked me at 1.30 this morning.
“I don’t know, I couldn’t make it out” I said.
Screaming, shouting, and banging are not unusual sounds from next door. Sometimes it’s accompanied by screams of laughter; other times by aggressive shouting. How do we know when it’s time to call the police? Maybe their relationship thrives on fights? It’s not a concept I personally understand, but so many people seem to live like that; how can that many people be wrong?
Mr Man and I had an argument ourselves last night.
“We’ll have a spare bit of money soon. I know you’ve been really missing your Mum, why don’t we pay for her flight over here?” I suggested.
“No, I want you to get a new laptop; you’ve put up with that rubbishy old thing for ages” Mr Man replied.
“I can wait a bit longer, it won’t hurt. It would be nice for you to see your Mum” I said.
“I know, but I want you to get something for yourself. It would be nice for you to have a new laptop instead of something that conks out every five minutes” he insisted.
“But I want us to spend it on something for you” I protested, “isn’t there something else you’d like?”
“No, I want you to spend it on yourself, you deserve it”
And so it went on…
Phew, we’re normal. I was beginning to think there was something wrong with us because we never argue.
“Did she just shout “help”?” Mr Man asked me at 1.30 this morning.
“I don’t know, I couldn’t make it out” I said.
Screaming, shouting, and banging are not unusual sounds from next door. Sometimes it’s accompanied by screams of laughter; other times by aggressive shouting. How do we know when it’s time to call the police? Maybe their relationship thrives on fights? It’s not a concept I personally understand, but so many people seem to live like that; how can that many people be wrong?
Mr Man and I had an argument ourselves last night.
“We’ll have a spare bit of money soon. I know you’ve been really missing your Mum, why don’t we pay for her flight over here?” I suggested.
“No, I want you to get a new laptop; you’ve put up with that rubbishy old thing for ages” Mr Man replied.
“I can wait a bit longer, it won’t hurt. It would be nice for you to see your Mum” I said.
“I know, but I want you to get something for yourself. It would be nice for you to have a new laptop instead of something that conks out every five minutes” he insisted.
“But I want us to spend it on something for you” I protested, “isn’t there something else you’d like?”
“No, I want you to spend it on yourself, you deserve it”
And so it went on…
Phew, we’re normal. I was beginning to think there was something wrong with us because we never argue.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
My Best Buy
And now for a real top tip…
This evening I bought a 200g jar of Nutella Chocolate spread to dip my mini doughnuts in. Yeah, that’s what I thought, a fantastic idea wasn’t it? But there’s more…
Recently I’ve had a problem with drinking glasses falling apart – usually in my hands while I’m washing up (bear with me on this; it’s not as completely random and unrelated to the jar of chocolate spread as it may seem). This leaves me with two problems: scarred hands and no glasses.
Whilst dipping my doughnuts in my jar of chocolate spread (as you do) it occurred to me that this jar would make a perfectly strong drinking glass – it’s thick glass, there is no screw thread at the top, and it’s actually drinking glass shaped rather than jar shaped. What’s more, the plastic “pop on” lid doubles as a can top for half used cans of food. All for 79p. What better excuse do you need for rushing out and buying half a dozen jars?
Oh, and the scars aren’t really that noticeable when your fingers are covered in chocolate spread.
This evening I bought a 200g jar of Nutella Chocolate spread to dip my mini doughnuts in. Yeah, that’s what I thought, a fantastic idea wasn’t it? But there’s more…
Recently I’ve had a problem with drinking glasses falling apart – usually in my hands while I’m washing up (bear with me on this; it’s not as completely random and unrelated to the jar of chocolate spread as it may seem). This leaves me with two problems: scarred hands and no glasses.
Whilst dipping my doughnuts in my jar of chocolate spread (as you do) it occurred to me that this jar would make a perfectly strong drinking glass – it’s thick glass, there is no screw thread at the top, and it’s actually drinking glass shaped rather than jar shaped. What’s more, the plastic “pop on” lid doubles as a can top for half used cans of food. All for 79p. What better excuse do you need for rushing out and buying half a dozen jars?
Oh, and the scars aren’t really that noticeable when your fingers are covered in chocolate spread.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Yippee!
My day just improved by 100%
I just found a crunch corner yoghurt in the back of the fridge!
This is incredibly good news because at 20 minutes past midnight it means that I don’t have to start making jellies in an effort to satisfy my sweet tooth - and I won’t have to keep getting out of my chair every five minutes to take a peek in the fridge to see if they have set yet. (Come on, you know we all do it)
You may be interested to know that I actually invented the crunch corner yoghurt, sometime back in 1983 – 1984. Sadly I’ve never been credited with this amazing flash of inspiration.
I was in senior school, and every day with my lunch I would have a yoghurt and a “poo cake” as we called them – or a chocolate covered cornflake cake – and I would mix the two together before eating it. Some people copied; some people thought I was odd or disgusting. But how many crunch corner yoghurts are now sold every week, eh? That many people can’t be wrong can they?
I also used to eat my chips with artificial cream, but that one didn’t seem to catch on.
I just found a crunch corner yoghurt in the back of the fridge!
This is incredibly good news because at 20 minutes past midnight it means that I don’t have to start making jellies in an effort to satisfy my sweet tooth - and I won’t have to keep getting out of my chair every five minutes to take a peek in the fridge to see if they have set yet. (Come on, you know we all do it)
You may be interested to know that I actually invented the crunch corner yoghurt, sometime back in 1983 – 1984. Sadly I’ve never been credited with this amazing flash of inspiration.
I was in senior school, and every day with my lunch I would have a yoghurt and a “poo cake” as we called them – or a chocolate covered cornflake cake – and I would mix the two together before eating it. Some people copied; some people thought I was odd or disgusting. But how many crunch corner yoghurts are now sold every week, eh? That many people can’t be wrong can they?
I also used to eat my chips with artificial cream, but that one didn’t seem to catch on.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Friday, July 13, 2007
Superstition Ain’t the Way
A line from “Superstition”, a number 1 hit in the US for Stevie Wonder in 1972, reaching number 11 in the UK charts. From the album “Talking Book”.
It was Friday the 13th today. Statistically, I wonder if more people were late for work today than on any other day of the year. I wonder if more people burnt their toast this morning, or spilt their milk. I wonder if the Accident & Emergency departments were busier than usual, or if the Police had to deal with more Road Traffic Collisions. And I wonder if the Fire Service had a busier day.
I just wondered.
It was Friday the 13th today. Statistically, I wonder if more people were late for work today than on any other day of the year. I wonder if more people burnt their toast this morning, or spilt their milk. I wonder if the Accident & Emergency departments were busier than usual, or if the Police had to deal with more Road Traffic Collisions. And I wonder if the Fire Service had a busier day.
I just wondered.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Three Little Words
For smegs sake, the things you have to do for a line break. Why is the html tag not working?
Exhaustion. Pain. Frustration.
(Explanation. Absence. Apology.)
(Return. Soon. Hopeful.)
Pretty imaginative though eh? (White text on white background to produce spaces) I wonder if anyone will notice?
Exhaustion. Pain. Frustration.
(Explanation. Absence. Apology.)
(Return. Soon. Hopeful.)
Pretty imaginative though eh? (White text on white background to produce spaces) I wonder if anyone will notice?
Friday, July 06, 2007
Punishment to Fit the Crime
I’m not a violent person at all. But like most people, I get really irritated by stupid people and sometimes feel that I’d like to knock a bit of sense into them… preferably with a baseball bat… but in reality I know I could never hurt anyone or anything. I’m the type of person who covers my eyes when people fight on the TV.
One of my brothers on the other hand is completely different. He’s a bully. He’s extremely aggressive and is well known to the police for this and other reasons. When his name is typed into the computer at the police station his details display in red, and flashing!* Some of the things he has done to other members of my family are unimaginable, and they are rarely on speaking terms with him. It’s not a nice thing to say about your own brother, but really there is no other way to describe him – he’s just a nasty person.
He’s recently become a father again, this time to a son. I can’t help feeling resentful of this.** I would love children, but for various reasons I know it will never happen.
My Mum told me that he had “beaten someone up” again yesterday.
“Great. Nice to see he is taking the responsibilities of Fatherhood seriously” I replied. But actually I was forced to eat my own words.
He punched the man after seeing him repeatedly beat a child laying on the ground, with his belt. What did the boy do to be “deserving” of such a punishment? He was late home from school.
A neighbour came out and took the child into her home, and called the police. When the police arrived to take statements they learned that the boy was 9 years old. He said his Mother and Father regularly beat him and his 4 year old sister, sometimes beating her while she is naked.
Apparently the officer said he would take the boy home and “have a word” with his parents. Is this for real? I like to think that for reasons of confidentiality the officer couldn’t reveal what his course of action would be. Or maybe he presumes that people know what the procedure in such a circumstance is, and the expression “have a word” is all encompassing. Maybe any police officers reading could enlighten us as to what would actually happen in such a circumstance?
Anyway, it seems whatever my views of my brother are; there are always people far, far worse, and much less deserving of having the privilege of raising children.
*Does this really happen or was the copper pulling my leg?
**I really need to tackle this problem as his son is nearly 4 weeks old and, I’m ashamed to say, I still haven’t made the effort to see him yet.
One of my brothers on the other hand is completely different. He’s a bully. He’s extremely aggressive and is well known to the police for this and other reasons. When his name is typed into the computer at the police station his details display in red, and flashing!* Some of the things he has done to other members of my family are unimaginable, and they are rarely on speaking terms with him. It’s not a nice thing to say about your own brother, but really there is no other way to describe him – he’s just a nasty person.
He’s recently become a father again, this time to a son. I can’t help feeling resentful of this.** I would love children, but for various reasons I know it will never happen.
My Mum told me that he had “beaten someone up” again yesterday.
“Great. Nice to see he is taking the responsibilities of Fatherhood seriously” I replied. But actually I was forced to eat my own words.
He punched the man after seeing him repeatedly beat a child laying on the ground, with his belt. What did the boy do to be “deserving” of such a punishment? He was late home from school.
A neighbour came out and took the child into her home, and called the police. When the police arrived to take statements they learned that the boy was 9 years old. He said his Mother and Father regularly beat him and his 4 year old sister, sometimes beating her while she is naked.
Apparently the officer said he would take the boy home and “have a word” with his parents. Is this for real? I like to think that for reasons of confidentiality the officer couldn’t reveal what his course of action would be. Or maybe he presumes that people know what the procedure in such a circumstance is, and the expression “have a word” is all encompassing. Maybe any police officers reading could enlighten us as to what would actually happen in such a circumstance?
Anyway, it seems whatever my views of my brother are; there are always people far, far worse, and much less deserving of having the privilege of raising children.
*Does this really happen or was the copper pulling my leg?
**I really need to tackle this problem as his son is nearly 4 weeks old and, I’m ashamed to say, I still haven’t made the effort to see him yet.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
That Explains It
Yesterdays breaking news was that all eight suspects, held in connection with the London and Glasgow bombs, worked in the NHS. Most of them were doctors. That explains a lot about the state of the National Health System.
I’m not sure which I find most disturbing: the fact that we put our lives in the hands of people who would rather kill us than save our lives, or the fact that they are so completely incompetent – as proved by their failure to even blow up a burning car with a bomb in it.
As they were being arrested, the two men at Glasgow airport could be heard arguing.
“You’re supposed to light the wick sticking out of the bomb, not set fire to yourself!”
“It’s your stupid driving, I dropped the match!”
Earlier, in London
“Hello Dr Ayman al-Zawahiri; thank you for coming to the ‘phone. I’m sorry but I couldn’t detonate those bombs; I seem to have misplaced the detonator. Oh, I’m sorry, can you excuse me? I’m being interrupted by a patient…”
“Doctor, I feel much better after having my Gall Bladder removed, but I’ve noticed a very strange ticking sound…”
I’m not sure which I find most disturbing: the fact that we put our lives in the hands of people who would rather kill us than save our lives, or the fact that they are so completely incompetent – as proved by their failure to even blow up a burning car with a bomb in it.
As they were being arrested, the two men at Glasgow airport could be heard arguing.
“You’re supposed to light the wick sticking out of the bomb, not set fire to yourself!”
“It’s your stupid driving, I dropped the match!”
Earlier, in London
“Hello Dr Ayman al-Zawahiri; thank you for coming to the ‘phone. I’m sorry but I couldn’t detonate those bombs; I seem to have misplaced the detonator. Oh, I’m sorry, can you excuse me? I’m being interrupted by a patient…”
“Doctor, I feel much better after having my Gall Bladder removed, but I’ve noticed a very strange ticking sound…”
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Creative Writing
“What on earth goes on in that house next door?” I moaned to Mr Man one night.
“With all that banging around they could be hiding a body under the floor boards for all we know!” I joked. Then thoughtfully I added: “You know, I should write a story about that…” And in my teens I probably would have, but I just don’t seem to have the creative energy any more.
School will be breaking up soon for summer. It was about this time of year in my final year at junior school when I started writing a story about a little girl called Elizabeth, who lived in a haunted house. It was obviously meant as school work originally, but when the school term ended I took my unfinished story home with me and continued writing throughout the summer holiday. In September I started a new school with new teachers, and when I showed my story to my new English teacher he encouraged me to continue writing it, even allowing me to write it during class time instead of having to do the assignments given to the rest of the class. I don’t even remember what happened to that story now; one of the many pieces of creative writing that was lost many years ago.
Throughout senior school this same English teacher was always positive about my writing and I often received top marks for short stories or scripts that I had written, which is ironic considering the low grade I received in my English exams.* Part of the problem was probably the fact that, although I liked writing, I didn’t like reading. I felt that reading was the death of creativity for me; my head would be filled with someone else’s story, someone else’s imagination, and not my own. Besides, it was boring.
When I reached my fifth and final year in senior school history seemed to repeat itself and once again I started writing a story, a script this time, which wasn’t to be completed until after I had left school. A friend of mine who had stayed on in sixth form took the finished script into school one day, to show my ex English teacher. He returned it with a simple message: “Get it published”. Unfortunately I never did, and then one day when I was having one of my “moments” I threw it away.**
That was about 18 years ago now. I’ve asked myself many times why I don’t feel able to be as creative anymore.
Do the pressures of life just eat away at our imagination? Do we get too wrapped up in the “real world” to play “pretend” in our minds? Maybe my expectations are too high now, and I fear failure, which in turn stifles creativity? When I was younger I just enjoyed the experience of writing; who did I need to impress? Only my English teacher if I wanted good marks, but to be honest I didn’t care about school marks. I just wrote for me.
I need to get back to that; writing for me. There are several things in life that tell me I need to do it - often when I am reading or watching TV I feel “dissatisfied” with the outcome of the stories. In these circumstances one of several things will happen:
So you see, I need to write a story – for me. For the satisfaction. I can choose my characters; I can choose my ending. What better indulgence is there for someone as spoilt as I am?
*There were only two teachers who ever seemed to appreciate my writing; he was one of them, and the other was when I was schooled in Wales for a brief period.
**I’m not a hoarder and I have these moments when everything has to go in the bin, and then I spend the rest of my life regretting it. I wish now that I had kept a copy of everything I had ever written.
“With all that banging around they could be hiding a body under the floor boards for all we know!” I joked. Then thoughtfully I added: “You know, I should write a story about that…” And in my teens I probably would have, but I just don’t seem to have the creative energy any more.
School will be breaking up soon for summer. It was about this time of year in my final year at junior school when I started writing a story about a little girl called Elizabeth, who lived in a haunted house. It was obviously meant as school work originally, but when the school term ended I took my unfinished story home with me and continued writing throughout the summer holiday. In September I started a new school with new teachers, and when I showed my story to my new English teacher he encouraged me to continue writing it, even allowing me to write it during class time instead of having to do the assignments given to the rest of the class. I don’t even remember what happened to that story now; one of the many pieces of creative writing that was lost many years ago.
Throughout senior school this same English teacher was always positive about my writing and I often received top marks for short stories or scripts that I had written, which is ironic considering the low grade I received in my English exams.* Part of the problem was probably the fact that, although I liked writing, I didn’t like reading. I felt that reading was the death of creativity for me; my head would be filled with someone else’s story, someone else’s imagination, and not my own. Besides, it was boring.
When I reached my fifth and final year in senior school history seemed to repeat itself and once again I started writing a story, a script this time, which wasn’t to be completed until after I had left school. A friend of mine who had stayed on in sixth form took the finished script into school one day, to show my ex English teacher. He returned it with a simple message: “Get it published”. Unfortunately I never did, and then one day when I was having one of my “moments” I threw it away.**
That was about 18 years ago now. I’ve asked myself many times why I don’t feel able to be as creative anymore.
Do the pressures of life just eat away at our imagination? Do we get too wrapped up in the “real world” to play “pretend” in our minds? Maybe my expectations are too high now, and I fear failure, which in turn stifles creativity? When I was younger I just enjoyed the experience of writing; who did I need to impress? Only my English teacher if I wanted good marks, but to be honest I didn’t care about school marks. I just wrote for me.
I need to get back to that; writing for me. There are several things in life that tell me I need to do it - often when I am reading or watching TV I feel “dissatisfied” with the outcome of the stories. In these circumstances one of several things will happen:
- I’ll predict the ending, leading to the over used joke in our household where Mr Man asks: “How did you know that?” and I reply with “I wrote it”
- I’ll get frustrated with story lines not being developed properly and end up wishing I had written it.
- Or I’ll just get bored and stop reading or watching the thing altogether. (Or a combination of all three)
So you see, I need to write a story – for me. For the satisfaction. I can choose my characters; I can choose my ending. What better indulgence is there for someone as spoilt as I am?
*There were only two teachers who ever seemed to appreciate my writing; he was one of them, and the other was when I was schooled in Wales for a brief period.
**I’m not a hoarder and I have these moments when everything has to go in the bin, and then I spend the rest of my life regretting it. I wish now that I had kept a copy of everything I had ever written.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
The Brutally Honest Personality Test
I just strolled over to Catherine’s blog and I found the results to this personality test she had taken hilarious, so I couldn’t resist taking the test myself. Being as indecisive as I am, I found some of the questions quite hard, and to be honest there were times when neither option applied to me – like: who is better looking, Bill Gates or… some other incredibly ugly bloke, I can’t even remember his name.
Anyway, this is my result. The funniest thing is that it’s actually true! You won’t believe that as I glanced through the list at the bottom before taking the test I thought to myself “I’m probably a clown”.
So there you have it. It’s slightly depressing knowing that my finest quality is my sense of humour when I know damn well I’m not even that funny! I don’t know if anyone else noticed this but the percentage of each aspect of my personality totalled more than 100%... and I’m supposed to be the one with no brains!
Anyway, this is my result. The funniest thing is that it’s actually true! You won’t believe that as I glanced through the list at the bottom before taking the test I thought to myself “I’m probably a clown”.
Your Score: Clown- ESFP
53% Extraversion, 33% Intuition, 20% Thinking, 33% Judging
Congratulations. You are the buffoon of society, the class clown, the general funny guy/gal. Your purpose on earth was to serve as entertainment for the rest of us sane ones. We're laughing with you and at you. Some people would kill to be as funny as you. Other would rather just kill you.
You're spontaneous, fun-loving and optimistic. You're all in all an idiot.
You wanna know why? It's because you would rather have fun than concentrate on your duties and obligations. You act before you think. You talk before you think. All in all, you don't think that much at all.
You did terribly at school, didn't you? You were the class clown. Paid no respect to the teachers or to your fellow students. Paid no attention to your school work. And look where you are now... starting to regret your decisions?
Get down to earth. Find a real job and start taking care of your responsibilities. Sure, people love you, but they don't love you because they like you. They love you because you make them laugh. They love you because they can always look at you and say "Well, at least I did better off than him or her!"
...but at least you're funny, right?
*****************
If you want to learn more about your personality type in a slightly less negative way, check out this.
*****************
The other personality types are as follows...
Loner - Introverted Sensing Feeling Perceiving
Pushover - Introverted Sensing Feeling Judging
Criminal - Introverted Sensing Thinking Perceiving
Borefest - Introverted Sensing Thinking Judging
Almost Perfect - Introverted iNtuitive Feeling Perceiving
Freak - Introverted iNtuitive Feeling Judging
Loser - Introverted iNtuitive Thinking Perceiving
Crackpot - Introverted iNtuitive Thinking Judging
Sap - Extraverted Sensing Feeling Judging
Commander - Extraverted Sensing Thinking Perceiving
Do Gooder - Extraverted Sensing Thinking Judging
Scumbag - Extraverted iNtuitive Feeling Perceiving
Busybody - Extraverted iNtuitive Feeling Judging
Prick - Extraverted iNtuitive Thinking Perceiving
Dictator - Extraverted iNtuitive Thinking Judging
| Link: The Brutally Honest Personality Test written by UltimateMaster on OkCupid, home of the The Dating Persona Test |
So there you have it. It’s slightly depressing knowing that my finest quality is my sense of humour when I know damn well I’m not even that funny! I don’t know if anyone else noticed this but the percentage of each aspect of my personality totalled more than 100%... and I’m supposed to be the one with no brains!
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Monday, June 11, 2007
Goodbye, Mr. Chips
It was a sad day when the chip shop at the end of our road closed. It had been there for at least 30 years from my memory, maybe longer. Strangely enough, I actually lived in this very same road when I was a child. My Mum used to see me across the road and then after I’d got our fish and chips I’d wait by the lamppost for my Mum to see me back across the road again.
The little row of shops that has stood there for so long is now being knocked down, to make room for more flats.
“I forgot to get a loaf of bread when I popped out for loo roll last night” I said to my Mum on the phone today.
“Can’t you just nip to that shop?” she asked.
“What shop?” I asked, confused.
“The shop at the end of your road” she replied.
“Mum, that shop hasn’t been there for the whole time I’ve lived here, and I’ve been here for 10 years in August!” I replied.
My Mum’s often a bit scatty, but where on earth has she been for the past 10 years?
“I’d heard that the chip shop was closed, but I didn’t know the shop had closed as well” she said.
“Mum, that shop hasn’t been open the whole time I’ve lived here!” I laughed. “They’re knocking that row of shops down now to build flats” I continued. “Anyway, was the chip shop run by an Italian family when I was a kid?” I asked.
“No, it was an Indian family. Don’t you remember the shop?” she replied.
“The chip shop?”
“Don’t you remember it?” she asked again.
“The chip shop Mum. Not the shop. The chippy”
“Oh I thought you meant the shop”
Blimey, it’s like visiting an old peoples home. I wouldn’t mind, but she’s only 57.
“You could do with a shop there really” she continued.
“Well, I know, but it isn’t going to happen now is it? They’re knocking it down!” I swear she’s a few chips short of a bag herself sometimes, bless her.
“I know; it’s a shame…”
The little row of shops that has stood there for so long is now being knocked down, to make room for more flats.
“I forgot to get a loaf of bread when I popped out for loo roll last night” I said to my Mum on the phone today.
“Can’t you just nip to that shop?” she asked.
“What shop?” I asked, confused.
“The shop at the end of your road” she replied.
“Mum, that shop hasn’t been there for the whole time I’ve lived here, and I’ve been here for 10 years in August!” I replied.
My Mum’s often a bit scatty, but where on earth has she been for the past 10 years?
“I’d heard that the chip shop was closed, but I didn’t know the shop had closed as well” she said.
“Mum, that shop hasn’t been open the whole time I’ve lived here!” I laughed. “They’re knocking that row of shops down now to build flats” I continued. “Anyway, was the chip shop run by an Italian family when I was a kid?” I asked.
“No, it was an Indian family. Don’t you remember the shop?” she replied.
“The chip shop?”
“Don’t you remember it?” she asked again.
“The chip shop Mum. Not the shop. The chippy”
“Oh I thought you meant the shop”
Blimey, it’s like visiting an old peoples home. I wouldn’t mind, but she’s only 57.
“You could do with a shop there really” she continued.
“Well, I know, but it isn’t going to happen now is it? They’re knocking it down!” I swear she’s a few chips short of a bag herself sometimes, bless her.
“I know; it’s a shame…”
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Life on Mars
It’s like nowhere you’ve ever been before. Everyone seems to know each other, and they all stand around in little groups chatting. The locals speak in a strange tongue, with words including ent, kent, shent, wunt, gooing and gonna. The elderly folk greet each other with “Er yoo or-roite me dook?” the literal translation of which is “Are you alright my duck?” This is a local expression which means something like “Hello my friend. How are you?” Strangely, there are no children to be seen anywhere.
It’s the local supermarket on a Saturday morning.
Oddly, the atmosphere is quite relaxed. There is no pushing or shoving; no shouting or screaming. I walk around wondering if I am in a dream. There is an orderly queue at the bakery section of people waiting to have their freshly baked loaves sliced. A slightly younger generation of shoppers quietly sing along with Dionne Warwick as they go about finding their goods of choice. The non offensive atmosphere is almost eerie. Am I mad, in a coma, or back in time?
I get to the checkout and I start putting my shopping onto the belt. It’s at this point that I realise that these Saturday morning folk have some bizarre superstitions. Apparently it is incredibly bad luck to allow two peoples shopping to touch.
The woman in front slowly turns her head to look at my shopping. She’s not really looking at my shopping; more the gap in-between her shopping and mine. I look up at her and she quickly looks straight ahead. I continue to unload my basket and I sense that her eyes are turning towards my shopping again. She shuffles uncomfortably and then impatiently looks to see if she will be served soon. The belt moves and the shopping starts to wobble. She is starting to inwardly panic. Did our shopping touch? A divider becomes available and she quickly grabs it. She sighs with relief. So do I; I don’t know what would happen but judging by the reactions of the woman in front it must be something catastrophic. Naturally then, when the gentleman behind me starts to put his shopping on the belt, I do the same. I hold on to my bottles of pop to make sure they don’t roll towards this mans shopping.
I finally make it safely to the checkout. Oh great; it’s the miserable bloke who tries to read my signature upside-down. Now I know this isn’t a dream. I anticipate a more true to life, stressful ending to my shopping trip.
“Would you like any help with your packing?” the old man asks. I only have a few items.
“Er…no. Thank you.” I stammer nervously. I hand him my card and he barely glances at it.
“Enter your pin please” he requests.
I don’t believe it. I got through the whole experience stress free. A smile breaks out across my face as I walk back to the car. I get in the drivers seat and close the door.
Damn. I forgot the potatoes…
It’s the local supermarket on a Saturday morning.
Oddly, the atmosphere is quite relaxed. There is no pushing or shoving; no shouting or screaming. I walk around wondering if I am in a dream. There is an orderly queue at the bakery section of people waiting to have their freshly baked loaves sliced. A slightly younger generation of shoppers quietly sing along with Dionne Warwick as they go about finding their goods of choice. The non offensive atmosphere is almost eerie. Am I mad, in a coma, or back in time?
I get to the checkout and I start putting my shopping onto the belt. It’s at this point that I realise that these Saturday morning folk have some bizarre superstitions. Apparently it is incredibly bad luck to allow two peoples shopping to touch.
The woman in front slowly turns her head to look at my shopping. She’s not really looking at my shopping; more the gap in-between her shopping and mine. I look up at her and she quickly looks straight ahead. I continue to unload my basket and I sense that her eyes are turning towards my shopping again. She shuffles uncomfortably and then impatiently looks to see if she will be served soon. The belt moves and the shopping starts to wobble. She is starting to inwardly panic. Did our shopping touch? A divider becomes available and she quickly grabs it. She sighs with relief. So do I; I don’t know what would happen but judging by the reactions of the woman in front it must be something catastrophic. Naturally then, when the gentleman behind me starts to put his shopping on the belt, I do the same. I hold on to my bottles of pop to make sure they don’t roll towards this mans shopping.
I finally make it safely to the checkout. Oh great; it’s the miserable bloke who tries to read my signature upside-down. Now I know this isn’t a dream. I anticipate a more true to life, stressful ending to my shopping trip.
“Would you like any help with your packing?” the old man asks. I only have a few items.
“Er…no. Thank you.” I stammer nervously. I hand him my card and he barely glances at it.
“Enter your pin please” he requests.
I don’t believe it. I got through the whole experience stress free. A smile breaks out across my face as I walk back to the car. I get in the drivers seat and close the door.
Damn. I forgot the potatoes…
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Say Cheese
I ate my cereal with gone off milk today. I have a stinking head cold and everything tastes gone off, so I thought it was just me. But no, the milk is off. My tummy told me so.
Despite having this dreadful head cold, fever, aches and pains all over, belly ache, and watery poo; I couldn’t get my loving brother to fetch a carton of milk for me (he made some excuse about having to work 12 hours every day this week), so this evening I dragged myself out, with Mr Man in tow, to the local 24 hour supermarket.
I hate shopping at the best of times. It makes me want to kill people:
I hate shoppers.
Why do they always have to stand or leave their trolley directly in front of the shelf you want to look at? And have you noticed that if you try to get to the shelf from a different angle they move so that they are still blocking your way? They walk incredibly slowly and sway from one side of the isle to the other so that you can’t pass them, and then they stand around and make you feel like you are in their way. The whole thing makes me feel so stressed that I can’t think straight until they have gone.
I hate shop workers.
They do the same thing as the shoppers but with their huge cages full of boxes. They burst through swinging doors with them and nearly run you over. They block the isles and leave boxes lying around everywhere. They stand there looking at you, and they make you feel rushed because you’re obviously in their way while they are trying to do their job. The whole thing makes me feel so stressed that I can’t think straight until they have gone.
I hate the shop.
Either they’ve sold out of whatever it is that you want or they don’t stock it anymore. Those loyalty cards that they give you are so that they can keep a record of what you buy on a regular basis, so that they can stop selling it. They change everything around in the shop so that you can’t find anything that you want and have to spend more time in the store feeling harassed by shoppers and workers. It’s not unusual for me to abandon my trolley and walk out of the store in sheer frustration. The whole thing makes me feel so stressed that I can’t think straight until I have gone.
I hate the noise.
The noise of those flippin’ cages being dragged along is absolutely deafening. I can’t think straight with the constant mindless chatter of the workers, and the incessant bleeping of the tills. And as for those self service tills… I want to smash a brick through the screen to shut the stupid voice up:
“Please scan your first item please scan your first item please scan your first item please scan your first item…”
Ok! I've scanned my first item already! Damn you, just shut up you stupid worthless piece of...
I’ve actually put my fingers in my ears whilst waiting in a queue before now.
I hate the journey there and back.
On the way to the supermarket tonight I saw an RAC van which had stopped at the side of the road. In my rear view mirror I noticed the car behind me indicating to over take both me and the van, because obviously I didn’t want to over take the van myself; I wanted to drive straight into it.
On the way home was anothernumpty van driver approaching the same round-a-bout as me from the right. I decided I had enough time to pull out, but then had to break as this person decided to take a short cut by going the wrong way around the round-a-bout. That’s one way of cutting down on fuel consumption I suppose…
Of course on the way home I have the added stress of being able to hear my shopping falling out of the bags and rolling around in the car.
I hate shopping. I really hate shopping.
Despite having this dreadful head cold, fever, aches and pains all over, belly ache, and watery poo; I couldn’t get my loving brother to fetch a carton of milk for me (he made some excuse about having to work 12 hours every day this week), so this evening I dragged myself out, with Mr Man in tow, to the local 24 hour supermarket.
I hate shopping at the best of times. It makes me want to kill people:
I hate shoppers.
Why do they always have to stand or leave their trolley directly in front of the shelf you want to look at? And have you noticed that if you try to get to the shelf from a different angle they move so that they are still blocking your way? They walk incredibly slowly and sway from one side of the isle to the other so that you can’t pass them, and then they stand around and make you feel like you are in their way. The whole thing makes me feel so stressed that I can’t think straight until they have gone.
I hate shop workers.
They do the same thing as the shoppers but with their huge cages full of boxes. They burst through swinging doors with them and nearly run you over. They block the isles and leave boxes lying around everywhere. They stand there looking at you, and they make you feel rushed because you’re obviously in their way while they are trying to do their job. The whole thing makes me feel so stressed that I can’t think straight until they have gone.
I hate the shop.
Either they’ve sold out of whatever it is that you want or they don’t stock it anymore. Those loyalty cards that they give you are so that they can keep a record of what you buy on a regular basis, so that they can stop selling it. They change everything around in the shop so that you can’t find anything that you want and have to spend more time in the store feeling harassed by shoppers and workers. It’s not unusual for me to abandon my trolley and walk out of the store in sheer frustration. The whole thing makes me feel so stressed that I can’t think straight until I have gone.
I hate the noise.
The noise of those flippin’ cages being dragged along is absolutely deafening. I can’t think straight with the constant mindless chatter of the workers, and the incessant bleeping of the tills. And as for those self service tills… I want to smash a brick through the screen to shut the stupid voice up:
“Please scan your first item please scan your first item please scan your first item please scan your first item…”
Ok! I've scanned my first item already! Damn you, just shut up you stupid worthless piece of...
I’ve actually put my fingers in my ears whilst waiting in a queue before now.
I hate the journey there and back.
On the way to the supermarket tonight I saw an RAC van which had stopped at the side of the road. In my rear view mirror I noticed the car behind me indicating to over take both me and the van, because obviously I didn’t want to over take the van myself; I wanted to drive straight into it.
On the way home was another
Of course on the way home I have the added stress of being able to hear my shopping falling out of the bags and rolling around in the car.
I hate shopping. I really hate shopping.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Confused
I had no inkling at all. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. I wasn’t worried, neither was I hopeful.
Mr Man, on the other hand, was impatient for an answer. Saturday night I took a test, but the faint blue line which threw me into panic wasn’t even visible to Mr Man with his glasses in another room and with poor night lighting. He was satisfied enough to get a good nights sleep.
I, on the other hand, was awake for a good deal longer, worrying about how he would react once he realised the truth.
I had to confess my concerns to him the following day, and after the initial shock and panic had worn off he seemed fine. The line was very faint though, and I needed to be sure. I took another test this morning… actually I’ve taken five in all over this weekend, and the only test to give a positive result was the first one I took, which was what started all this confusion in the first place.
So, I had a plan…
In the good old days women used to wait two months before consulting their doctor.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
En Route to Madness
Map reading is my new hobby. I bought an A-Z Street Atlas for our town and surrounding area yesterday and I have to say that it’s absolutely fascinating; I can’t put it down.
Mr Man keeps saying “I can’t believe you’re so engrossed in a map!” He thinks I’ve finally gone to Cuckoo Land.
I would, but I haven’t found it on the map yet…
Mr Man keeps saying “I can’t believe you’re so engrossed in a map!” He thinks I’ve finally gone to Cuckoo Land.
I would, but I haven’t found it on the map yet…
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Hide and Seek
Hide and Seek was a 1984 single for family pop band “Five Star”.
I was suddenly awakened by a sharp slap to the face. Startled, I raised my head, squinting, trying to avoid the glare of the light. My cheek was stinging, almost burning, but the sensation was quickly overshadowed by the pain of my other afflictions which I was blissfully unaware of whilst in my drug induced slumber. My body was stiff and aching from being tied in this awkward position for so long. My wrists were sore with open wounds from the friction of the rope. My head was pounding from whatever they had injected into me.
“Where is it?” he demanded.
I could hardly see him through the light, shining full in my face. I could hear his footsteps coming towards me on the bare floor boards. The room sounded empty. Suddenly the smell of dust and wood was replaced by the smell of aftershave and mouthwash as he pushed his face into mine, pulling my head back by my hair. I let out a cry.
“Where is it?” he hissed.
“I don’t know… I don’t know what you’re talking about” I croaked as tears welled up in my eyes.
He released his grip, throwing my head forward.
“Don’t play games Roberta. We know you have the recording” he said calmly as he walked away and disappeared out of my vision again. “I have someone searching your home right now, as we speak”
My tears began to spill from my eyes. I couldn’t be strong any longer. I was exhausted. I was in so much pain. And I was scared.
“Please… I don’t know anything” I sobbed.
At that moment my cries were suddenly halted by the sound of the door opening. Footsteps followed. I couldn’t see what was happening; the light was too bright. All I could do was listen:
“Well?”
“Nothing”
“What do you mean ‘nothing’?”
“Nothing. I searched everywhere; the car, the laptop, the CD player… all I could find was rubbish music”
“Detail it. What did you find?”
The other man sighed heavily as he searched his memory “Ok, in the car stereo was Craig David ‘The Story Goes…’” he began. “In the glove box was all kinds of rubbish; more Craig David, Lionel Richie, Bill Withers…”
“I like Bill Withers” the boss interrupted.
The other man hesitated “Ok. Well, anyway there was also a Duets tape with soppy love songs, a ‘Motown Heartbreakers’ tape, and get this… Five Star” I could hear a crack in his voice as he stifled a laugh. The boss was not amused.
“Did you listen to it?” he demanded.
“Of course I did” replied the other man “Well, you know, just to check that the recording wasn’t on it”
“Ok, what else?”
I heard the rustling of paper.
“In the CD player was songs from the Movies, you know, old stuff; Frank Sinatra, Judy Garland, that sort of thing. In the cassette player was Billy Holiday. Lying around the place was a Leslie Garret cassette, again with songs from old Movies, and a Declan CD”
“You’re kidding” scoffed the boss.
The other man chuckled “No, serious”
“That little boy that the old grannies liked?”
“Yeah”
They chuckled together for a while and then the boss suddenly stopped.
“Ok, that’s enough, what else?” he asked sternly.
The other man stopped laughing and cleared his throat “On the laptop she’s recorded loads of Sheryl Crow stuff, but the last thing she had listened to in Winamp was Mariah Carey”
“And what about her mobile phone?”
“Stevie Wonder ‘As’ when you press play, and Stevie Wonder ‘Sir Duke’ as the ring tone. Actually, loads of Stevie Wonder, and some chart stuff as well”
There was a pause for a while.
“I listened to it all boss; there’s nothing there”
Another pause followed.
“Ok, get rid of this chick” he said to the man, and then as he walked towards me again he raised his voice slightly “Well, it looks like you’re free to go, beautiful; you’re guilty of nothing more than having no taste in music”
He switched off the light and all I could see was blobs in front of my eyes. I heard his footsteps fade as he walked out of the room, and after the other man had untied me, he followed, quietly singing to himself; “Hide and seek, it’s just a game we’re playing, hide and seek. Swear I’m gonna find you, sneaking up behind you, hide and seek…”
I was left sitting there, alone, as if I had imagined the whole thing. They left no evidence of ever being there, apart from the chair I was sitting on. As I struggled to my feet I could see the first glimpse of sunlight through the window. It was going to be a beautiful day. And I still had the recording…
This post is in response to the Music Meme that Jane tagged me with ages ago! Each tagged person is supposed to list the first 10 songs on their ipod when they select “random”, but although I own an ipod, it’s hidden somewhere in the depths of the abyss – also known as a cupboard – and I never really used it much anyway so it doesn’t have all of my music on it. So I decided to go to the 5 things I use most often to listen to music - the car stereo, the CD player, the cassette player, my laptop, and my ‘phone – and list what was in them at that time. Now I’m supposed to tag 5 people…
I would like to tag Catherine, Rhea, Hobby Bobby, SirBusy (although he might be too busy), and… … Grannys.Myth.Peeler.
I was suddenly awakened by a sharp slap to the face. Startled, I raised my head, squinting, trying to avoid the glare of the light. My cheek was stinging, almost burning, but the sensation was quickly overshadowed by the pain of my other afflictions which I was blissfully unaware of whilst in my drug induced slumber. My body was stiff and aching from being tied in this awkward position for so long. My wrists were sore with open wounds from the friction of the rope. My head was pounding from whatever they had injected into me.
“Where is it?” he demanded.
I could hardly see him through the light, shining full in my face. I could hear his footsteps coming towards me on the bare floor boards. The room sounded empty. Suddenly the smell of dust and wood was replaced by the smell of aftershave and mouthwash as he pushed his face into mine, pulling my head back by my hair. I let out a cry.
“Where is it?” he hissed.
“I don’t know… I don’t know what you’re talking about” I croaked as tears welled up in my eyes.
He released his grip, throwing my head forward.
“Don’t play games Roberta. We know you have the recording” he said calmly as he walked away and disappeared out of my vision again. “I have someone searching your home right now, as we speak”
My tears began to spill from my eyes. I couldn’t be strong any longer. I was exhausted. I was in so much pain. And I was scared.
“Please… I don’t know anything” I sobbed.
At that moment my cries were suddenly halted by the sound of the door opening. Footsteps followed. I couldn’t see what was happening; the light was too bright. All I could do was listen:
“Well?”
“Nothing”
“What do you mean ‘nothing’?”
“Nothing. I searched everywhere; the car, the laptop, the CD player… all I could find was rubbish music”
“Detail it. What did you find?”
The other man sighed heavily as he searched his memory “Ok, in the car stereo was Craig David ‘The Story Goes…’” he began. “In the glove box was all kinds of rubbish; more Craig David, Lionel Richie, Bill Withers…”
“I like Bill Withers” the boss interrupted.
The other man hesitated “Ok. Well, anyway there was also a Duets tape with soppy love songs, a ‘Motown Heartbreakers’ tape, and get this… Five Star” I could hear a crack in his voice as he stifled a laugh. The boss was not amused.
“Did you listen to it?” he demanded.
“Of course I did” replied the other man “Well, you know, just to check that the recording wasn’t on it”
“Ok, what else?”
I heard the rustling of paper.
“In the CD player was songs from the Movies, you know, old stuff; Frank Sinatra, Judy Garland, that sort of thing. In the cassette player was Billy Holiday. Lying around the place was a Leslie Garret cassette, again with songs from old Movies, and a Declan CD”
“You’re kidding” scoffed the boss.
The other man chuckled “No, serious”
“That little boy that the old grannies liked?”
“Yeah”
They chuckled together for a while and then the boss suddenly stopped.
“Ok, that’s enough, what else?” he asked sternly.
The other man stopped laughing and cleared his throat “On the laptop she’s recorded loads of Sheryl Crow stuff, but the last thing she had listened to in Winamp was Mariah Carey”
“And what about her mobile phone?”
“Stevie Wonder ‘As’ when you press play, and Stevie Wonder ‘Sir Duke’ as the ring tone. Actually, loads of Stevie Wonder, and some chart stuff as well”
There was a pause for a while.
“I listened to it all boss; there’s nothing there”
Another pause followed.
“Ok, get rid of this chick” he said to the man, and then as he walked towards me again he raised his voice slightly “Well, it looks like you’re free to go, beautiful; you’re guilty of nothing more than having no taste in music”
He switched off the light and all I could see was blobs in front of my eyes. I heard his footsteps fade as he walked out of the room, and after the other man had untied me, he followed, quietly singing to himself; “Hide and seek, it’s just a game we’re playing, hide and seek. Swear I’m gonna find you, sneaking up behind you, hide and seek…”
I was left sitting there, alone, as if I had imagined the whole thing. They left no evidence of ever being there, apart from the chair I was sitting on. As I struggled to my feet I could see the first glimpse of sunlight through the window. It was going to be a beautiful day. And I still had the recording…
This post is in response to the Music Meme that Jane tagged me with ages ago! Each tagged person is supposed to list the first 10 songs on their ipod when they select “random”, but although I own an ipod, it’s hidden somewhere in the depths of the abyss – also known as a cupboard – and I never really used it much anyway so it doesn’t have all of my music on it. So I decided to go to the 5 things I use most often to listen to music - the car stereo, the CD player, the cassette player, my laptop, and my ‘phone – and list what was in them at that time. Now I’m supposed to tag 5 people…
I would like to tag Catherine, Rhea, Hobby Bobby, SirBusy (although he might be too busy), and… … Grannys.Myth.Peeler.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Just Read
Not meant as a command but as a kind of play on words as in the post I make reference to “Just Another Thought…”, “JustGiving” and “Just Smile…”
I’ve been meaning to do a blog roll and side bar update for what seems like forever. (Of course, if you’ve read my previous post you’ll realise that I haven’t actually written a blog post for millions of years now, but I have travelled back in time to update my blog, so to the average unenlightened reader it looks like it’s only been a few months since I last did a blog roll update, which is far from forever)
You’ll notice a couple of new blogs listed. One of them, “Just Another Thought…” is written by my dear friend Aiders. We actually lived opposite each other when we were 14-16 but then lost touch when we left school and both moved to other areas. Thirteen years later we got in touch with each other again through Friends Reunited and I’m glad to say have stayed in touch ever since. I didn’t know back then that she had such a great talent for writing, but her poems are beautiful. Thankfully she has chosen to share some of them with us in her blog.
You’ll also notice that there are two links to “JustGiving” supporting two different sponsored events. The first is for my friend Dawn Morley, who is running in the Race for Life this year to raise money for Cancer Research UK. This charity is the worlds leading independent organisation dedicated to cancer research, and with an estimated 1 in 3 suffering from cancer at some point in their life, I dare say many owe their lives to this valuable research. I know cancer has claimed at least 3 lives in my family, not to mention the friends lost, and the friends and family who have been successfully treated. Both Dawn and her teenage daughter will be running in memory of Dawns Dad who sadly died of cancer nearly two years ago. The race will be very challenging for Dawn as she has never done anything like this before, but obviously the charity is one that is close to her heart.
The second is for a team of LAS Paramedics who I don’t know from Adam. They’re climbing the three highest mountains in England, Scotland, and Wales in a 24 hour period - hell, it would be challenging enough without the time restriction. They are climbing to raise money for The Richard House Childrens Hospice, which provides support and care for children who are not expected to live into adulthood. Angela (the author of Just Smile…) has done some of her nurse training in this hospice, and she explains that it is a very valuable service that is suffering due to lack of funding. Previously Angela had told me about the services this home struggles to provide:
“[The] children's hospice… offered respite and end of life care. They had a lovely, recently built facility that offered residential and day care… The day care service was no longer offered because of funding... Most of this purpose built facility wasn't being used and during my placement they were making staff redundant…”
I sincerely wish Dawn and the Paramedic team every success in their upcoming challenges. Although Dawn has already exceeded her target amount, wouldn’t it be great if she could raise 150% (£225)? Or even 200% (£300)? I will gladly pass on any messages of support, but if you’re a blogger, please link to these two fundraising events on your blog. Thank you!
I’ve been meaning to do a blog roll and side bar update for what seems like forever. (Of course, if you’ve read my previous post you’ll realise that I haven’t actually written a blog post for millions of years now, but I have travelled back in time to update my blog, so to the average unenlightened reader it looks like it’s only been a few months since I last did a blog roll update, which is far from forever)
You’ll notice a couple of new blogs listed. One of them, “Just Another Thought…” is written by my dear friend Aiders. We actually lived opposite each other when we were 14-16 but then lost touch when we left school and both moved to other areas. Thirteen years later we got in touch with each other again through Friends Reunited and I’m glad to say have stayed in touch ever since. I didn’t know back then that she had such a great talent for writing, but her poems are beautiful. Thankfully she has chosen to share some of them with us in her blog.
You’ll also notice that there are two links to “JustGiving” supporting two different sponsored events. The first is for my friend Dawn Morley, who is running in the Race for Life this year to raise money for Cancer Research UK. This charity is the worlds leading independent organisation dedicated to cancer research, and with an estimated 1 in 3 suffering from cancer at some point in their life, I dare say many owe their lives to this valuable research. I know cancer has claimed at least 3 lives in my family, not to mention the friends lost, and the friends and family who have been successfully treated. Both Dawn and her teenage daughter will be running in memory of Dawns Dad who sadly died of cancer nearly two years ago. The race will be very challenging for Dawn as she has never done anything like this before, but obviously the charity is one that is close to her heart.
The second is for a team of LAS Paramedics who I don’t know from Adam. They’re climbing the three highest mountains in England, Scotland, and Wales in a 24 hour period - hell, it would be challenging enough without the time restriction. They are climbing to raise money for The Richard House Childrens Hospice, which provides support and care for children who are not expected to live into adulthood. Angela (the author of Just Smile…) has done some of her nurse training in this hospice, and she explains that it is a very valuable service that is suffering due to lack of funding. Previously Angela had told me about the services this home struggles to provide:
“[The] children's hospice… offered respite and end of life care. They had a lovely, recently built facility that offered residential and day care… The day care service was no longer offered because of funding... Most of this purpose built facility wasn't being used and during my placement they were making staff redundant…”
I sincerely wish Dawn and the Paramedic team every success in their upcoming challenges. Although Dawn has already exceeded her target amount, wouldn’t it be great if she could raise 150% (£225)? Or even 200% (£300)? I will gladly pass on any messages of support, but if you’re a blogger, please link to these two fundraising events on your blog. Thank you!
Friday, May 11, 2007
Daydream Believer
“Roberta!” shouted the teacher, forcing me to turn my attention to her from outside the window. With the hum drum chitter chatter of a classroom full of 7 year olds it was easy to drift away.
There was one word that linked every school report I ever had – Daydreamer. It wasn’t true though. I wasn’t so much daydreaming as day… sleeping... with my eyes open. I used to go into a trance like state with my eyes fixed on whatever was right in front of me, but not really seeing what was there at all. It’s a habit I’ve carried right into my adulthood, caused mainly by lack of sleep.
I remember when I was in my teens, sitting on the floor enjoying a game of cards with a male friend of mine. While he spent some time taking his turn I kind of drifted off into one of my trances. Looking up from his cards he noticed where my eyes were resting and suddenly moved to cross his legs, and it’s only then that I realised I was staring at his crotch. Neither of us said a word, I just took my turn and we continued playing cards, and it’s never been mentioned to this day. God knows what he thought. I wonder if he still remembers it.
I still do it now – go into trances I mean, not stare at my friends’ crotch. The worst time of course is when I’m driving...
Although written by John Stewart from the folk group The Kingston Trio, Daydream Believer was originally recorded by The Monkeys, providing them with their last #1 hit in 1967.
There was one word that linked every school report I ever had – Daydreamer. It wasn’t true though. I wasn’t so much daydreaming as day… sleeping... with my eyes open. I used to go into a trance like state with my eyes fixed on whatever was right in front of me, but not really seeing what was there at all. It’s a habit I’ve carried right into my adulthood, caused mainly by lack of sleep.
I remember when I was in my teens, sitting on the floor enjoying a game of cards with a male friend of mine. While he spent some time taking his turn I kind of drifted off into one of my trances. Looking up from his cards he noticed where my eyes were resting and suddenly moved to cross his legs, and it’s only then that I realised I was staring at his crotch. Neither of us said a word, I just took my turn and we continued playing cards, and it’s never been mentioned to this day. God knows what he thought. I wonder if he still remembers it.
I still do it now – go into trances I mean, not stare at my friends’ crotch. The worst time of course is when I’m driving...
Although written by John Stewart from the folk group The Kingston Trio, Daydream Believer was originally recorded by The Monkeys, providing them with their last #1 hit in 1967.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Once Upon a Time…
Are you sitting comfortably? I’m going to tell you a story. It all happened a very long time ago but my memory of events are still as sharp as ever.
Now, we’ve all heard of the great feats of mankind – climbing Mount Everest; travels to the North Pole; even landing on the moon – it would seem that there is no conceivable place on earth, or anywhere else for that matter, that man has been unable to leave an impression – a boot impression that is.
But this was a place that no man had ever trod.
Much like a message in a bottle which is washed out to sea, many had written their hopes, their dreams, their cries for help, and the secrets of their heart, and sent them out to this place in the hope that someone – anyone – would respond to their call; not knowing if, by whom, when, or where that message would be opened and read. Oh yes, in that sense man had left a very big impression on this place. I dare say if this place really was like the sea there would be millions of bottles all floating together, all different shapes and sizes. I can almost hear the chorus of clinking chinking sounds right now.
Yes, it was a place in Cyber Space, known as The Blogosphere. This is where my little story begins.
Isn’t it amazing that we can look right into Cyber Space and even view events on the Blogosphere in detail through our powerful Cyber telescopes (computers) and yet no man has ever stepped foot there? Even water has been walked on. Anyway, one day on the Blogosphere I saw a bottle floating towards me, figuratively speaking of course, that had my name on it. I opened it and found…
...a Meme. *dud dud daaaah* (dramatic music)
What would I do? Would I respond immediately, or would I add it to my ever growing list of half finished blog posts? Yep, you guessed it; it went on my pile of “things to do”. That’s not to say that I didn’t appreciate having a Meme sent to me; what greater compliment could there be than someone else wanting to know my views and tastes? But… well… I wanted to be able to write my response and send on the Meme to others in an imaginative way. I wanted time to paint the bottle if you like; make it pretty.
I answered the questions and then filed it, waiting for the time, energy, and imagination to strike all at once. I waited. And I waited.
I continued waiting, and in the meantime I had 5 children and 12 grandchildren. Eventually it was time for me to be frozen in a pod. It was pretty routine by that time; a lot of people were being frozen, awaiting the time when mankind could reverse the aging process and cure mankind’s diseases.
Many years later I was thawed. I was surprised to see so many elderly looking people, as I was expecting to be released from the pod only after Scientists had found a way to reverse the aging process. It was then that they dropped the bombshell on me:
The Meme that was sent to me by Jane was of great importance, and by not responding to it I had inadvertently prevented essential information from being passed on through the generations – information that would have helped Scientist to find a way of reversing the aging process and cure many diseases. Without this information they were forced to resort to spending their time working out the mathematical formula for the perfect bacon butty.
The full weight of what they had said sat heavily on my shoulders.
“What can I do?” I asked, with tears stinging my eyes.
“Do you know where you stored this Meme?” they asked.
“Yeah, I think so”
“Go and get it, we need to see it”
So off I went. I was a little stiff I can tell you; I was well into my eighties when I was frozen and that was hundreds of years ago. The bus service wasn’t what it used to be either, and it was never good in the first place. I waited around for so long that I wondered if I would have been better off being frozen again until a bus came.
Finally I got home. I knew exactly where to look for the Meme; the funny thing is that although I hadn’t responded to it I thought about it often. It felt strange looking over those answers again that I had written all those years ago before filing it away. I couldn’t see anything that I thought would be of great importance to the future of mankind though. It read as follows:
Three Things That Scare Me:
1. The possibility of Mr Man seriously harming himself.
2. Spiders. Even photos or drawings of them, or places where they can hide like small toilets.
3. The thought of being bitten by rats, even though I’ve never actually seen a wild rat in my entire life.
Three People Who Make Me Laugh: (only three?)
1. Mr Man
2. Funky Monkey’s Mother
3. Grannys.Myth.Peeler
Three Things I Love:
1. Mr Man
2. My friends and family
3. Singing and dancing to good music
Three Things I Hate:
1. My own personality flaws
2. Stupid people (that answer covers a lot)
3. When I can’t find what I’m looking for
Three Things I Don't Understand:
1. My Mother in law
2. Other languages
3. People who deliberately hurt others, mentally, emotionally, or physically
Three Things On My Desk: (Well, next to me anyway)
1. My Laptop
2. My mobile phone
3. A glass of diet Pepsi
Three Things I'm Doing Right Now:
1. Thinking
2. Typing
3. Playing with my hair
Three Things I Want To Do Before I Die:
1. Publish a book
2. Write a film script
3. Write a song
Three Things I Can Do:
1. Ride a horse
2. Touch my toes without bending my knees (even though I’m old and fat)
3. Flip Pancakes
Three Things I Can't Do:
1. Back flips
2. Speak another language
3. See without glasses or contact lenses
Three Things I Think You Should Listen To:
1. The people you love
2. The elderly
3. Children
Three Things You Should Never Listen To:
1. Malicious gossip
2. Self doubts
3. Geri Halliwell
Three Things I'd Like To Learn:
1. How to play the Guitar
2. More crochet patterns
3. Ballroom dancing
ThreeFavourite Worst Foods: (I can’t do the “favourites”)
1. Dodgy “meats” like Liver, Kidney, Heart, Tongue…
2. Dodgy seafood like Prawns, Winkles, Muscles…
3. Mushrooms, except the dodgy ones (just kidding)
Three Shows I Watched As A Kid: (but there were so many)
1. The A Team
2. The Fall Guy
3. Heart to Heart
Three Wonderful People to Inflict My Meme On: (again, only three?)
Aiders
Angela
TP
Once I had returned to the… well, it was a secret location, but once I had returned there they agreed to freeze me again. That was millions of years ago now. I was thawed once more when mankind had found a way to return me to my youth – in more ways than one. Not only do I now look younger than I did in my thirties, but we also know how to time travel.
And that is the end of my tale, for now at least. I suspect that will only be the beginning of my story, because now that I have travelled back in time to post this Meme on my blog I have effectively changed the course of history and I have no idea what the outcome of my actions will be in the future. Oh well. You’re damned if you do, and you’re damned if you don’t.
Now, we’ve all heard of the great feats of mankind – climbing Mount Everest; travels to the North Pole; even landing on the moon – it would seem that there is no conceivable place on earth, or anywhere else for that matter, that man has been unable to leave an impression – a boot impression that is.
But this was a place that no man had ever trod.
Much like a message in a bottle which is washed out to sea, many had written their hopes, their dreams, their cries for help, and the secrets of their heart, and sent them out to this place in the hope that someone – anyone – would respond to their call; not knowing if, by whom, when, or where that message would be opened and read. Oh yes, in that sense man had left a very big impression on this place. I dare say if this place really was like the sea there would be millions of bottles all floating together, all different shapes and sizes. I can almost hear the chorus of clinking chinking sounds right now.
Yes, it was a place in Cyber Space, known as The Blogosphere. This is where my little story begins.
Isn’t it amazing that we can look right into Cyber Space and even view events on the Blogosphere in detail through our powerful Cyber telescopes (computers) and yet no man has ever stepped foot there? Even water has been walked on. Anyway, one day on the Blogosphere I saw a bottle floating towards me, figuratively speaking of course, that had my name on it. I opened it and found…
...a Meme. *dud dud daaaah* (dramatic music)
What would I do? Would I respond immediately, or would I add it to my ever growing list of half finished blog posts? Yep, you guessed it; it went on my pile of “things to do”. That’s not to say that I didn’t appreciate having a Meme sent to me; what greater compliment could there be than someone else wanting to know my views and tastes? But… well… I wanted to be able to write my response and send on the Meme to others in an imaginative way. I wanted time to paint the bottle if you like; make it pretty.
I answered the questions and then filed it, waiting for the time, energy, and imagination to strike all at once. I waited. And I waited.
I continued waiting, and in the meantime I had 5 children and 12 grandchildren. Eventually it was time for me to be frozen in a pod. It was pretty routine by that time; a lot of people were being frozen, awaiting the time when mankind could reverse the aging process and cure mankind’s diseases.
Many years later I was thawed. I was surprised to see so many elderly looking people, as I was expecting to be released from the pod only after Scientists had found a way to reverse the aging process. It was then that they dropped the bombshell on me:
The Meme that was sent to me by Jane was of great importance, and by not responding to it I had inadvertently prevented essential information from being passed on through the generations – information that would have helped Scientist to find a way of reversing the aging process and cure many diseases. Without this information they were forced to resort to spending their time working out the mathematical formula for the perfect bacon butty.
The full weight of what they had said sat heavily on my shoulders.
“What can I do?” I asked, with tears stinging my eyes.
“Do you know where you stored this Meme?” they asked.
“Yeah, I think so”
“Go and get it, we need to see it”
So off I went. I was a little stiff I can tell you; I was well into my eighties when I was frozen and that was hundreds of years ago. The bus service wasn’t what it used to be either, and it was never good in the first place. I waited around for so long that I wondered if I would have been better off being frozen again until a bus came.
Finally I got home. I knew exactly where to look for the Meme; the funny thing is that although I hadn’t responded to it I thought about it often. It felt strange looking over those answers again that I had written all those years ago before filing it away. I couldn’t see anything that I thought would be of great importance to the future of mankind though. It read as follows:
Three Things That Scare Me:
1. The possibility of Mr Man seriously harming himself.
2. Spiders. Even photos or drawings of them, or places where they can hide like small toilets.
3. The thought of being bitten by rats, even though I’ve never actually seen a wild rat in my entire life.
Three People Who Make Me Laugh: (only three?)
1. Mr Man
2. Funky Monkey’s Mother
3. Grannys.Myth.Peeler
Three Things I Love:
1. Mr Man
2. My friends and family
3. Singing and dancing to good music
Three Things I Hate:
1. My own personality flaws
2. Stupid people (that answer covers a lot)
3. When I can’t find what I’m looking for
Three Things I Don't Understand:
1. My Mother in law
2. Other languages
3. People who deliberately hurt others, mentally, emotionally, or physically
Three Things On My Desk: (Well, next to me anyway)
1. My Laptop
2. My mobile phone
3. A glass of diet Pepsi
Three Things I'm Doing Right Now:
1. Thinking
2. Typing
3. Playing with my hair
Three Things I Want To Do Before I Die:
1. Publish a book
2. Write a film script
3. Write a song
Three Things I Can Do:
1. Ride a horse
2. Touch my toes without bending my knees (even though I’m old and fat)
3. Flip Pancakes
Three Things I Can't Do:
1. Back flips
2. Speak another language
3. See without glasses or contact lenses
Three Things I Think You Should Listen To:
1. The people you love
2. The elderly
3. Children
Three Things You Should Never Listen To:
1. Malicious gossip
2. Self doubts
3. Geri Halliwell
Three Things I'd Like To Learn:
1. How to play the Guitar
2. More crochet patterns
3. Ballroom dancing
Three
1. Dodgy “meats” like Liver, Kidney, Heart, Tongue…
2. Dodgy seafood like Prawns, Winkles, Muscles…
3. Mushrooms, except the dodgy ones (just kidding)
Three Shows I Watched As A Kid: (but there were so many)
1. The A Team
2. The Fall Guy
3. Heart to Heart
Three Wonderful People to Inflict My Meme On: (again, only three?)
Aiders
Angela
TP
Once I had returned to the… well, it was a secret location, but once I had returned there they agreed to freeze me again. That was millions of years ago now. I was thawed once more when mankind had found a way to return me to my youth – in more ways than one. Not only do I now look younger than I did in my thirties, but we also know how to time travel.
And that is the end of my tale, for now at least. I suspect that will only be the beginning of my story, because now that I have travelled back in time to post this Meme on my blog I have effectively changed the course of history and I have no idea what the outcome of my actions will be in the future. Oh well. You’re damned if you do, and you’re damned if you don’t.
Monday, April 23, 2007
There’s a Crow Among the Pigeons
The idiom “Put the Cat Among the Pigeons” means to create a disturbance or cause trouble, making others angry or worried. Thought to originate in Iran and India where Caracal cats were tamed and trained for bird hunting and put into arenas with a flock of pigeons where wagers were made on how many birds the cat could bring down.
Sheryl Crow has been on a “Stop Global Warming” College Tour in the US recently and has been quoted on BBC News as saying:
“I have spent the better part of this tour trying to come up with easy ways for us all to become a part of the solution to global warming” and her suggestions?
“I propose a limitation be put on how many squares of toilet paper can be used in any one sitting” Good luck with enforcing that one then. Anyone for toilet duty?
So just how many squares are deemed sufficient?
“…only one square per restroom visit…” What? I know everything is supposed to be bigger and better in America, but just how big are the squares of her toilet paper?
“…except, of course, on those pesky occasions where two to three could be required”
Yeah, yards not squares.
Obviously not an IBS sufferer.
Sheryl Crow has been on a “Stop Global Warming” College Tour in the US recently and has been quoted on BBC News as saying:
“I have spent the better part of this tour trying to come up with easy ways for us all to become a part of the solution to global warming” and her suggestions?
“I propose a limitation be put on how many squares of toilet paper can be used in any one sitting” Good luck with enforcing that one then. Anyone for toilet duty?
So just how many squares are deemed sufficient?
“…only one square per restroom visit…” What? I know everything is supposed to be bigger and better in America, but just how big are the squares of her toilet paper?
“…except, of course, on those pesky occasions where two to three could be required”
Yeah, yards not squares.
Obviously not an IBS sufferer.
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