I realise I haven’t updated this blog for quite a long time. View it as a commercial break; time to put the kettle on, nip to the loo, get the chocolate digestives out, or whatever else it is you do to avoid watching those annoying TV adverts.
For those of you who like to stay put and be entertained by the adverts…
Tesco have an amazingly special offer on Crunchy Nut Cornflakes at the moment. Buy one box for £2.58 or buy two boxes for £2.50! They’re paying you 8p to take a second box! That’s better than Buy One Get One Free!
Every little helps.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Saturday, January 05, 2008
I See Stupid People
.
I was in Subway’s the other week.
“Can I have a serviette please?” I asked the lad behind the counter.
“What’s one of those?” he asked, confused.
“You know, tissue to wipe my hands on”
It's only when someone else handed me one that he said:
“Oh, I call them napkins”
Yeah, same thing Einstein.
You think that’s bad. I was shopping for a frame today.
“Do you have any frames 50 x 60 cm?” I asked the shop assistant, who was probably in her 40’s.
“Let’s see… we have this one – 40 x 50 cm?” she offered.
“No, that’s too small” I said. Then she went on to offer me frames that were too big.
“What size did you say you wanted?” she asked eventually.
“50 x 60 cm” I confirmed.
“So that’s more of a square shape really isn’t it?”
“Umm, no, not really”
How can 50 x 60 cm be more of a square shape than 40 x 50 cm?
Changing the subject slightly (although maybe not completely) I thought I’d like to try my hand at knife throwing as a new hobby. I saw a lovely cleaver in town today…
.
I was in Subway’s the other week.
“Can I have a serviette please?” I asked the lad behind the counter.
“What’s one of those?” he asked, confused.
“You know, tissue to wipe my hands on”
It's only when someone else handed me one that he said:
“Oh, I call them napkins”
Yeah, same thing Einstein.
You think that’s bad. I was shopping for a frame today.
“Do you have any frames 50 x 60 cm?” I asked the shop assistant, who was probably in her 40’s.
“Let’s see… we have this one – 40 x 50 cm?” she offered.
“No, that’s too small” I said. Then she went on to offer me frames that were too big.
“What size did you say you wanted?” she asked eventually.
“50 x 60 cm” I confirmed.
“So that’s more of a square shape really isn’t it?”
“Umm, no, not really”
How can 50 x 60 cm be more of a square shape than 40 x 50 cm?
Changing the subject slightly (although maybe not completely) I thought I’d like to try my hand at knife throwing as a new hobby. I saw a lovely cleaver in town today…
.
Friday, January 04, 2008
Here’s a question for you…
When I’m doing a turn in the road to reverse my car into my driveway, why do pedestrians on the pavement stop and look at me as if I’m aiming right for them and I’m going to mount the curb to run them over?
Seriously though; how many Irish Cream Truffles do you recon I could eat and still be under the driving limit? (Alcoholic Irish Cream silly, not dairy cream made from Irish cows!)
Seriously though; how many Irish Cream Truffles do you recon I could eat and still be under the driving limit? (Alcoholic Irish Cream silly, not dairy cream made from Irish cows!)
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Just Another Day
.
“Thirty Kenyans including many children have been burned to death in a church, after seeking refuge from the mounting violence over last week's elections.”
“A suicide bomber in Iraq has killed 30 people in an attack in the capital Baghdad, police reports say.”
“At least 13 people have been killed in attacks by gunmen on two police stations and a hotel in the Nigerian oil city of Port Harcourt.”
Happy New Year.
News headlines quoted from BBC News
“Thirty Kenyans including many children have been burned to death in a church, after seeking refuge from the mounting violence over last week's elections.”
“A suicide bomber in Iraq has killed 30 people in an attack in the capital Baghdad, police reports say.”
“At least 13 people have been killed in attacks by gunmen on two police stations and a hotel in the Nigerian oil city of Port Harcourt.”
Happy New Year.
News headlines quoted from BBC News
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Today's Top Worst Tip
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.
.
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.
.
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.
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