Is it a bird? Is it a plane?

... No, it's a boy... er... reading a book!

I don't know why, but I found this story really funny.

Now, I know there is a serious side to this. I mean, should parents really be encouraging their 7 year olds to climb the roof and sit on top of a chimney? (It brings a whole new meaning to the "naughty step") But the one line in this news report that made me laugh out loud was:

"His [the Dad's] arrest was triggered on 29 January after a member of the public reported a child left unattended on a roof."

...and the little photograph that accompanies it with the boy on the roof in the distance. I don't know, it just makes me laugh every time I look at it!

Here We Go Again...

Yes, it's that time of year again - the time of year when I suddenly forget how to drive; stall the car at every available opportunity (and create a few of my own); and feel the need to try all five gears until I settle on one that is appropriate for the speed I am driving at.

It's that time of year when I can't remember what anything is called, forcing me to start an impromptu game of Articulate* mid sentence. And the time of year when completely random words and sentences come out of my mouth which are totally unrelated to what I was about to say.

Yes, it's that time of year when I start to suffer my annual brain dysfunction. It has come early this year, but then so has autumn.

Just the other day I said to Mr Man: "I'm just going to sit down and go to the toilet before I start dinner" when what I actually meant to say was: "I'm just going to sit down and have a drink before I start dinner" !

Another favourite seems to be completely forgetting what I've just said the moment I have finished speaking, and then having this awful feeling that I just said something random and having to ask the person I'm talking to "What did I just say?" They probably think I'm testing their level of attention!

Ah yes, here we go again... and people wonder why I prefer to write than talk.


*Articulate is a game where you have to describe a word from a card to your team member without actually saying the word, and they have to guess as many words on the cards as possible in the time allotted.

Patience

Patience - number one hit for British male band "Take That" in 2006. First single from the album "Beautiful World", their first album after reforming 10 years after the band split in 1996. Dedicated by Mr Man to my Mum!


I've always been a very impatient sort of person. I'm quite indecisive, but once I've made up mind that I want something I want it yesterday. I never realised where I got this trait from, or how irritating it could be to others, until I went to my Mum's house yesterday.

I always thought she was quite a patient person; she could spend hours knitting. As far as I'm concerned you have to be an incredibly patient person to spend hours knitting.

So yesterday Mr Man and I went to my Mum's house. Mr Man was upgrading* my Mum's (ancient) computer - inserting more ram, bigger hard drive, that sort of thing - and doing some other things that go way over my pretty little grey cells. We were there for over 5 hours. So at about 1am when Mr Man was just about finished my Mum says:

"When you get home, can you log on to MSN so that I can see if my webcam is working?"

"But Mum, it's one O'clock in the morning!"

"Oh, ok then. Well, can you log on to MSN on your phone just so I can see if my webcam is working?"

"But Mum, it's one O'clock in the morning!"

"I know, but I just wanted to see if my webcam is working"

"But Mum, it's one O'clock in the morning!"

I mean, why does she need to know at one O'clock in the morning if her webcam is working or not? But then I realised, this is exactly the sort of thing that would completely bug me until I knew one way or the other. It's a good job we asked her to wait too, because knowing me, if her webcam didn't work at one O'clock in the morning, she would want Mr Man to stay and fix it.

Oh my goodness, I'm just like my mother! I'm going to have nightmares for the next week of me walking down the street pushing a pram with a fag hanging out of my mouth! Argh!


* I hate this word.

You Are Now Entering… The Twilight Zone

I know; I’m a very naughty, lazy, blogger. I haven’t blogged in ages, but in truth, nothing very blog worthy has happened in my life of late. Of course, I still haven’t told you about the time I was hunted down by a police dog last summer, but I shall save that for another time now.

Today the most bizarre thing happened. I woke up and took out one of my ear plugs to see what time it was (I know; I still haven’t worked that one out yet either). It was 1pm on the dot. But when I went to return the ear plug, it had gone! I sat up, expecting to find that it had rolled under me (I know; I still haven’t figured out how something can roll under an immovable object, but it does sometimes). Still no ear plug. In fact, I virtually stripped the whole bed looking for it. It was nowhere. It had vanished.

Now, I’m familiar with the tooth fairy and the sock monster, but an ear plug taker? In front of my very eyes? (I know; I still haven’t figured out what “very eyes” are, but it sounds good)

Obviously by this time Mr Man had stirred.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m looking for my ear plug. I took it out to see what time it was (yeah, I still haven’t worked it out yet) and now I can’t find it”
“What is the time?” he asked out of interest.
“It’s one O’clock” I answered, as I looked at my watch again. I don’t know why I looked at my watch again because I already knew what the time was. I suppose it’s one of those pointless things that we do, like when old people look at their watches when you offer them a cup of tea. It seems that these little time keepers hold the answers to all of life’s important questions – like whether to have a cup of tea or not.

However, this time when I looked it was 12pm on the dot. Eh? How could I have misread that? I could understand it if it was 5 past 12 and in my bleary eyed state had mistaken it to be 1pm, but…

There was only one explanation for it – we had travelled back in time! Had The Ear Plug Taker reversed time so that I wouldn’t remember him/her/it taking my ear plug? And what do they do with them?

I suppose, for now at least, that will remain one of life’s unanswered questions…

I Have Piles

Yep, I have piles. Piles of washing, piles of dishes, piles of dust, piles of unopened mail…

Someone told me you could get a cream for it to soothe the itching. Is that the itching to run away? She didn’t say how or where to apply it though…

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!)

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…


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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!

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!)

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.

What Color Crayon Are YOU?

Tell me what this says about you in the comments section.

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…

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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:

1. 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”


2. I’ll get frustrated with story lines not being developed properly and end up wishing I had written it.


3. 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.

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”.

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?

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If you want to learn more about your personality type in a slightly less negative way, check out this.

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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!

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.

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…

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.

What a Duffer...

Umm… yeah, I found out tonight why those star jumps were so blinkin’ hard to do…

I was at a friends house tonight, and experienced a strange desire to share my star jumping technique with her.
“I was doing star jumps earlier” I said, leaping out of my chair to demonstrate.
I stood in the centre of her living room and jumped up in the air whilst spreading my arms and legs out to the side at the same time, and then landing with my feet together and my arms by my side - a bit like a rather feeble attempt at those jumps they used to do in “Fame” when we were kids, but with my feet only leaving the floor by a few inches! My friend burst into fits of laughter.
“That’s not how you do star jumps!” she exclaimed, “You do them like this…”
She got up to join me in our jumping session. She jumped and landed with her legs apart and with her arms outstretched in one simple movement, and then jumped again as she brought her legs together and her arms down by her sides. She repeated this a few times before we had to stop through being doubled over with laughter.
“Oh. No wonder they were so hard to do!” I cried.
“Mr Man, how do you put up with her?” she asked, shaking her head.
“Hey, hang on a minute!” I protested through my laughs, “He was doing them like that as well…”