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.

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!

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.

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

Three Favourite 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.

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.

The “Yoof” of Today

I saw an elderly man mowing a front lawn the other day. He looked so frail that I couldn’t believe he had the strength to push the mower; he looked like he was holding on for support if anything.

On the driveway stood a younger man who spoke to him occasionally and then stood and watched the old man struggle. Morbid curiosity made me turn the car around to drive by for a closer look. By this time the younger man had been joined by two teenage boys.

The elderly man continued mowing. The other three continued to watch whilst chatting. Teatime TV ain’t what it used to be.

Bringing Home The Bacon

Obviously the great minds of our day have found the solution to all of mankind’s problems and have left “Scientists” with little to do with their time and resources, judging by this article.

Apparently, 4 researchers at Leeds University have spent more than 1,000 hours testing 700 variations of the traditional bacon sandwich to determine how to make the perfect bacon butty.

I especially liked the last paragraph where the mathematical formula for the perfect bacon butty was explained in detail. I shall sleep well tonight.

Today's Top Tip

If you don’t want to wake up looking like a cross between Captain Caveman and Worzel Gummidge, don’t go to bed with wet hair wrapped in a towel.

Who Let The Dogs Out?

A UK #2 hit in 2000 for the Baha Men. Anslem Douglas originally recorded the song in 1998, but in 2001 he was sued by Patrick Stephenson and Leroy Williams, who had originally written the chorus for a radio jingle in 1995. The song has often been used at sporting events, the first use being in 1999 at a football game of the Mississippi State University, with a version sung by Chuck Smooth. (Who’s he?)


Unbelievably, both driving and shopping have been quite a joy of late – until this weekend...

Who let the stupid drivers out again? Every time I’ve been out in the car I’ve had to put up with some numpty driving right up my rear, almost close enough to push me along, or with their headlights shining in my mirrors, and I’ve even been beeped at a couple of times. I’d just like to point out that I don’t actually set the speed limits, ok? I just try to stick by them. You know, I’m just like anyone else; if someone is driving along at 20mph when the speed limit is 30 I get a tad irritated, but why get irritated with someone who is obeying the law and driving at the speed limit, just because you happen to feel that it’s not fast enough for you? Listen, if you want to get pulled over and given a speeding ticket that’s your business, but don’t try to push me into breaking the law/having an accident.

I was actually tempted to stop my car at a junction and get out to speak to the driver behind me this afternoon. I’d only just found out that a couple of people I know had been involved in a car accident and had been air lifted to hospital, and here was this loser, who had appeared from nowhere (obviously driving too fast to have caught up with me that quickly) and was driving right up my rear. These people annoy me so much. (Can you tell?) I had my niece in the car with me this evening so I decided to pull over and let yet another loser past as I thought it would be safer, but it’s not always possible.


Shopping on Saturday wasn’t so much irritating as embarrassing. Two women airing their dirty laundry in public and pointing their fingers in each others faces, and another woman waving her arms around as she shouted down her mobile phone “No, I won’t shut up! Jus’ get ‘ere now!...”, as well as the usual mothers screaming at their children like “fisher women”. Do these people have no shame?

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…”

Today's Top Tip

If you’re overweight and extremely unfit, try to resist the sudden urge to do star jumps, no matter how strong the desire.

An End to Slavery?

There has been a lot of news articles recently about the 200th anniversary of the “abolition” of the slave trade, which apparently falls on Sunday 25th March.

The media has focussed a lot of attention on sex trafficking and described that as a type of slavery, as if the connection between the two has only just occurred to them, or as if they’ve only just discovered that it exists.

Wake up and smell your Fair Trade coffee.

And then there’s this little gem.

Personally I find it perversely hypocritical to say on one hand:

“We’re appalled that our ancestors used to treat their fellow man in this way. We’re so glad that we’re a civilised nation now, and don’t earn our fortunes through the slave trade anymore”

…and then on the other hand say…

“…but I’ll keep hold of my huge inheritance that was amassed through treating others in such an appalling way, thank you very much.”

If you wish, you can help to pay for the upkeep of their home which was built on slavery, and in exchange have a guided tour. Of course, being a charitable institution, you are encouraged to pay more than the base entry fee, thus enabling them to claim a further 28% from the government.

In keeping with the spirit of charity, entry is free on Sunday 25th March – the 200th anniversary of the abolition of the slave trade.

Happy anniversary.

It's a Bum Rap

I was chatting with my brother on the phone tonight and he was complaining about how every piece of mail through his letter box just lately is to tell him that another bill has gone up. He’s tried to cut back where he can, and as he doesn’t use the internet much he decided to switch his ISP so that he could take advantage of the free service provided by his digital TV service provider. He jokingly said that he’ll also have to use the free newspaper instead of toilet paper soon to save money. Anyway, after deciding to announce that he needed to go to do a poo, he asked me to email him to make sure that his new email address was working properly, so I decided to compose a rap…

Yo, Bro
You said you had to go
But I’m still smilin’
Freestylin’
While you’re on the Poe
Now there’s somethin’ you should know
Don’t waste the
Newspaper, down the pan
‘Cos later
What you choose
To use
You’ll accuse
When your pan’s blocked
Don’t act shocked
It’s not like I didn’t warn you
Not tryin’ to scorn you
Never diss you
I still miss you
I’m just saying
You’ll be paying
For a plumber
It’s a bummer
So use Andrex ok?

Red Nose Day

It’s done. He did it. Mike (and others) completed the mammoth task of compiling a book in just seven days. Shaggy Blog Stories.


But this isn’t just any old book. Oh no no! This book contains entries from 100 authors (more than even the Bible with a mere 40), and all British Bloggers at that, all with the sole intention of bringing a smile to your fair face and raising money for Comic Relief at the same time.

So what are you waiting for? Oh, where to buy it? Of course, silly old me…

www.shaggyblogstories.co.uk

Genetically Modified Tomatoes?

Listen, if you’re going to waste time trying to reinvent the wheel, why don’t you do something really useful and make the cherry tomato square so that it doesn’t keep rolling off my plate? (And for some reason it always seems to roll towards me when it’s covered in an oily dressing)

And while you’re at it, how about genetically modifying the plastic bottle so that my shopping doesn’t keep falling over and rolling around all over the place? I can’t possibly be the only person in the world who absolutely despairs at trying to get these bottles to stand upright, so why has no one redesigned this utterly useless piece of plastic? It's as pointless as storing liquid in a balloon - both roll all over the place, and have you ever tried untying a balloon with liquid in it? It makes a mess doesn’t it? Yeah, the same thing happens when you open a bottle of pop that’s been rolling around on the floor.

How can human kind possess the knowledge and technology to enable them to propel satellites into space and yet not realise that the design of the Pepsi cola bottle is seriously flawed? And why waste time trying to make a tomato red when it’s already red, and juicy when it’s already juicy, when all I really want is to be able to eat the smeggin’ thing without it rolling under the table?

Shaggy Blog Stories

Attention all bloggers!

Today I have stumbled across this brilliant idea.

Basically, all bloggers are being asked to submit just one blog post, preferably their funniest, to be included in a book entitled “Shaggy Blog Stories” which will go on sale next Friday, 16th March. As you may, or may not know, this date is Red Nose Day, and all money raised (minus publishing fees) will be donated to Comic Relief.

Time is ticking away! This book is being compiled in just 7 days, with the closing time/date being 6pm GMT Wednesday 14th March. (Surely this has to be a record for the largest amount of contributors for one book, and being compiled in the shortest amount of time?)

Everyone is being encouraged to publicise this event on their own blogs, contribute to the book themselves, buy the book next Friday, and advertise the book once it goes on sale.

I’m not sure if I’ve really ever written anything that funny myself, but I hope to read some of my favourite posts by other bloggers.

So get blogging!

You can read more about this event here: troubled-diva.com

Oompa Loompa Doompety Doo…

Lyrics from the “Oompa Loompa” songs written by Leslie Bricusse and Anthony Newley for the film “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory” 1971. The original book, which was entitled “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory”, was written by Roald Dahl and first published in 1964. The screen play of the 1971 film adaption was written by Roald Dahl and David Seltzer, and by John August in the 2005 remake, which was titled the same as the book.

I’m starting to look like Violet Beauregarde from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. No, not in colour; that would be extremely worrying, but in shape.


I have a wedding to attend in May and I haven’t a chance in hell of actually losing an ounce of weight before I go, unless I start chopping some limbs off. I’m just not in the right frame of mind at the moment. You know how it is; eating old musicals while watching cake, drinking my blanket, and crocheting the Malibu. I start off with good intentions; just the other night I had a salad with “Mexican style” brown rice and kidney beans; I felt so virtuous. I wanted to increase my vegetable intake so I followed that up with six slices of carrot cake – I never believed carrots could taste so good. So you see, I was doing really well, but later that night when I couldn’t sleep I gave in to temptation and ate four chocolate chip cookies. No wonder I can’t lose weight. Actually, I have been going to a slimming club, but it occurred to me that I could save my money by not going and have an extra fiver to spend on biscuits each week. I mean, what’s the point in going anyway? I spend all that money to hear something my waistband has already told me.

Still, if the wedding reception is in fancy dress I have some purple outfits hanging in my wardrobe…



Image from roalddahlfans.com

Speechless

I just read this article on Inspector Gadgets blog.

I don’t care that he was a Police officer. I care that he is a human being.

How much little is a life worth these days?

In particular read this incredibly moving poem by James, the brother of the victim, Daniel Coffill.

Daniel Coffill

The Night is Filled With Music

Instrumental written by Irving Berlin, 1938. From the film “Carefree” staring Fred Astaire and Ginger Rodgers.

She looked so beautiful. Her perfect curls secured in place, her long eyelashes, and her sleeveless gown that revealed her elegant, slender arms. The handsome man in the perfectly tailored suit took her by the hand and they seemed to float away. Gracefully they swayed across the floor; the only evidence of their feet touching the ground was the occasional tapping sound in time with the music; her long flowing dress as fluid and light as their bodies.

“I wish I had a dress like that” thought the little girl. She was mesmerised as she sat right in front of the TV staring at the screen. The rest of the family were doing their own thing; this wasn’t to their taste at all. The end of the film was always a bitter sweet moment; she hated the fairy tale moments to end, but she couldn’t wait to run upstairs and create her own fantasies behind the closed door of her bedroom.

Drawing by Chuck Rose

In her room she could forget the madness of being part of a one parent family with 3 older siblings and 3 younger. Although she shared her room with her two younger sisters, they were too young to want to play in their own room. She had arranged the furniture herself so that there was a space in the centre of the room. Imagining those beautiful melodies in her mind she would drift away, skipping and twirling in her imaginary ball gown. There was even a patch of bare floorboards, right by the door, where the carpet hadn’t quite reached to the edge of the room, and there she would make up her tap dancing steps.

She loved all kinds of dancing and music and singing. Even now, 25 years later, that little girl still loves to sit and watch old musicals. They’re just so happy and gay and they take her away to a much simpler place in time – a time before she was even born. A magical time. A time that probably doesn’t even exist except on the silver screen and in every little girls imagination.

Just lately I’ve been watching musicals every night - hence the lack of posts. I go through these phases sometimes; it’s just something I need to do. I swear I was born 50 years too late.

Yabba Dabba Doo!

I had my slimming club meeting tonight.
“How much did you lose?” Mr Man asked.
“Blimey, he’s optimistic” I thought.

Unbelievably I did manage to lose some weight though. I say “unbelievably” because when you hardly sleep there are more hours in the day to eat food. And when you’re tired you can’t be bothered to cook so you eat any ol’ rubbish.

On my way home I popped into the local supermarket. I finally gave in and bought some sleeping tablets. They’re just herbal things so I hope they do something. I didn’t want anything stronger because I don’t want to feel drugged up all day. Right now though I don’t feel like I’m going to need them tonight. I’m resisting the urge to go to bed, because I know that if I sleep now I will wake up again in three hours time and then be awake again all night.

I wonder how many people I irritated tonight? When I’m tired I do everything in slow motion. I shuffle along with my trolley and every now and again I stop and stare at a shelf even though I have no idea what I’m even looking at. Strangely enough I drive really slowly when I’m tired as well. I have no idea why. I could understand it if I had a Flintstone car.

Man alive, I wouldn't look that happy if my car was leg powered. It's too much effort to press the accelerator.


Picture from Google images.

Today's Top Tip

Remember to look over your right shoulder when about to pull away from the curb in a motor vehicle. There really is a blind spot in your mirrors - large enough to hide a lorry, apparently.

Is there no end to the stupidity in this world?

Just when I think I have heard or read the most stupid thing I am ever going to hear or read in my entire life, ever, I come across something else that is even more stupid than the last stupid thing I heard or read.

I suppose the subject of this post on Mental Nurse is something I would usually write about in my other blog, and I have, but then people’s stupidity is usually something I blog about here.

Is there no end to people’s stupidity?

But maybe it works. What do I know? I’m only the wife of a Schizophrenic.

"Riddle Me This, Riddle Me That..."

- The Riddler, played by Jim Carey, in Batman Forever 1995.

Pop over to Trainee Paramedics blog where he has posted a couple of riddles for our amusement. No peeking at the solutions in the answers post though!


So, there's 8 balls...

Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow!

Lyric written by Sammy Cahn and music by Jule Styne in 1945. First recorded by Vaughn Monroe in 1946. Although traditionally thought of as a Christmas song, the lyrics in this love song contain no mention of Christmas at all.

“Oh, the weather outside is frightful
But the fire is so delightful…”

Ahh… is there anything better than listening to some old tunes while curling up by an open fire?


“And since we’ve no place to go…”

Actually, it's not so much having no place to go, but Mr Man has banned me from driving in this weather in case I have an accident. Also I received an email from a friend the other day asking me: “Have you crashed into anyone recently?” Blimey, knock down one telegraph poll and you never hear the end of it! Still, if I know I won’t be driving it means I can relax with a glass of Bailey’s by the fire, so…

“Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!”


I'm afraid I have to disagree with our friend Tom Reynolds (sorry Tom), who thinks it's stupid that schools close for the day and that the whole country comes to a standstill when it snows. It seems to snow much less than I remember as a child. I don’t think it snows often enough in this country for people to really know how to cope with it, and people certainly don’t know how to drive in it. I think everywhere should close for the day and kids should be able to stay home from school and make the most of the snow while it lasts. He's just jealous because his brother (who is a teacher) got a day off work and he didn't!

Spare a thought for people who have to go out and work in it too – like our postmen/women. Imagine them walking around in it for two or three hours while it’s still snowing; getting wet and cold, and trying to stay upright with a heavy bag of mail on their back.

Extra Extra! Read All About It!

I thought it was about time I updated my list of links in the side bar as I’ve been reading some very funny and interesting blogs of late, and as I’ve had another sleepless night I thought I’d give you a little explanation of each blog while I decide whether to go back to bed or whether to try to force myself to stay up until I’m so tired that I feel like death and I have to give in and go back to bed and then I would have slept too late in the day to be able to sleep tonight and I’ll be kicking myself and wishing that I went to bed this morning instead of trying to force myself to stay up even though it’s not really my fault because I didn’t know what to do because if I went to bed this morning I didn’t know whether I would actually be able to sleep or not. In the mean time maybe someone could Google “the longest sentence in the world recorded in the Guinness book of records” for me.

I’ve never really had a very high opinion of NHS Direct. I called one time for some medication advice and the woman on the phone wanted to send an ambulance for Mr Mans indigestion. I’ve never bothered phoning them again, but if I knew I would have this clever lady answering the phone then maybe I would. There is always two sides to every story, and for every stupid person you think works at NHS reDirect you can guarantee that this lady will answer the phone to at least 50 stupid people ringing them. It’s a very stressful job too, sometimes being the first person that a caller will speak to after experiencing traumatic events. Read the list of 25 random calls listed here and see for yourself.

I’ve been reading a couple of blogs written by Special Constables of late. Hobby Bobby has some very funny stories to tell, and SirBusy is a teacher in his “day job” so he even knows how to spell and like use proper grammar? And all stuff like that innit? I was like well impressed.

Another blog I’ve been reading is written by a copper who calls himself Grannys.Myth.Peeler, but he doesn’t write about his work. He has a very vivid imagination shall we say, and if you don't mind some swearing I guarantee you’ll be crying with laughter. His characters (real or imagined, I have no idea) really come to life. Men of Steel has got to be one of the best.

Has anyone ever come across any British FireFighter blogs?

TODAY'S HEADLINE NEWS

HUMANS BLAMED FOR CLIMATE CHANGE

Well whose fault did you think it was? Who the hell else is there to blame?

A New Kind of Stupid

I just had to blog today on the level of stupidity that I have seen in the news recently. Forget the stupid drivers, forget the stupid shoppers; today I have read news articles that show a new kind of stupid.

Take for example the news about the stricken cargo ship MSC Napoli. Containers have been strewn across Branscombe beach in Devon, and it is reported that looters have been turning up in droves to scavenge what they can find on the beach. This has rightly been condemned by the police and coast guard officials as the goods inside these containers obviously belong to other people, some of which are personal items.

However, as much as the greed of these people disgust me, the thing I found stupid beyond belief was a comment submitted to BBC News and quoted within the article:

“Let them keep what they find. They are removing rubbish from the beach!”
Ken Bolton from Manchester

Umm… no. You see this is rubbish (which is clearly being left behind):



What is actually being removed is barrels of wine and BMW motorbikes, and other valuable items.



Also in the news is a two year old boy who was banned from a shop for refusing to remove his “hoodie”:





And on a more serious note is the story of a man who lost his life during a mugging that went wrong. The Judge David Hodson is quoted as saying regarding the murderer:

“The dreadful catalogue of physical and emotional abuse you have been subjected to as a child has undoubtedly contributed to the anti-social behaviour disorder you suffer.”

I'm sure this statement will bring great comfort to the victims family. If you click on the link to the news article you can watch video phone footage of the murderer "suffering" from the affects of his anti-social behaviour disorder.

Two questions: Is anti-social behaviour a disorder?* And is physical and emotional abuse as a child a justifiable excuse for a completely unrelated murder in adulthood?

I'd just like to point out that I have friends who wrote the book on suffering physical and emotional abuse, and yet they are balanced, upright members of society. They don’t mug people; they don’t carry knives; and they don’t stab people to death.




*If so, I’m sorry kids but your ASBO no longer makes you look “tough” and “cool” – it just proves you’re a fruit cake.

Images from BBC News

The Magic Roundabout

Originally known as "Le Manège Enchanté" (The Enchanted Merry-go-round), "The Magic Roundabout" was an animated children's television programme created in France in 1963 by Serge Danot, assisted by British animator Ivor Wood, who was working at Danot's studio at the time. The programme was aired on British television from 1965 to 1977 and was narrated by Eric Thompson who, rather than translate the original script from French into English, narrated the program based on what he saw.

In 1972 the UK saw the introduction of large road traffic circulation systems with an unconventional layout, and the name “Magic Roundabout” soon became associated with any complex traffic roundabout.


I haven’t blogged about stupid drivers in ages. Actually, I haven’t seen any stupid drivers in ages. I presumed that they had all read my blog and were sitting at home sulking. Maybe they thought I had forgotten about them and so they decided to come out and drive again?

On Friday night I saw many of them, but by no means all of them. I went out to drop Mr Man off at his table tennis practice, and when I arrived back home I pulled over at the side of the road, ready to make my manoeuvre to reverse onto our drive (I’m a bit clever like that). In my rear view mirror I could see headlights, so I waited a moment. I then noticed that there were two vehicles coming along the road behind me, followed by blue flashing lights. As I waited I watched in disbelief as all three of them drove past; wondering why the two vehicles in front hadn’t pulled over. It was an ambulance by the way, not a police car, so they weren’t being chased!

On my way back to pick Mr Man up I approached a small roundabout. The car in front of me had stopped, although there were no other vehicles on or even approaching the roundabout from any other exit. Then a car appeared at the exit to the right. Giving way to his right, as he should, the car in front of me continued to wait. But then so did the numb skull to the right, although there was nothing coming from his right. Why do people struggle to use roundabouts so much? It’s not complicated is it? We’re talking about a small roundabout with three exits – nothing like this one:


Actually that reminds me, just before the Christmas period two cars nearly had a collision right in front of me on a mini roundabout. It was another one of those roundabouts with three exits, which used to be a “T” junction; they seem to be very common in our town. The car in front of me was turning right, but the car coming straight towards us from the opposite direction (which in roundabout terms was to our left) pulled out straight in front of him instead of giving way. I suppose it can be confusing to some people when the roundabout used to be a “T” junction, but for goodness sake, there are a few hints as to what to do – like the big round “roundabout” sign before you approach it, and the fact that there is a large round lump in the road painted white – I find that a little bit of a give away myself.

Desperate Measures

I don’t know why but I have this strange desire to share every useless piece of drivel that pops into my brain tonight – unfortunately for you, my dear reader.

I’ve had trouble with my sinuses over the last couple of days and I think I may be coming down with a head cold or have some kind of infection, so I’ve been dosing myself up on chopped, raw, garlic – unfortunately for Mr Man.

You’ll be glad to know that I haven’t decided to adopt the rather unusual method of self administration by inserting a whole garlic clove into my bottom, as demonstrated by an auditionee on last years Xtra Factor!* Instead I have been washing the garlic down with diet Pepsi, which probably isn’t the best choice of beverage for health benefits, but at least it makes the garlic semi palatable. I have a piece of metal in my kitchen which, when used to wash ones hands with, removes odours from the skin. It’s magic! So I decided to use it to wash my tongue with as well. It worked a little, but I couldn’t get to the roof of my mouth with it. Needless to say I am getting through quite a bit of mouthwash at the moment. It’s worth it though as garlic has amazing health benefits, including antibiotic properties. I always use it when I suspect an infection (that green stuff you cough up is usually a bit of a giveaway) rather than going to the doctors for antibiotics. Mr Man said to me on Friday “You should go to the doctors about it” to which I replied: “No, I was only there a couple of days ago, he’ll think I fancy him!”.

A friend told me today that garlic can also be rubbed into the soles of the feet and absorbed into the body in this way, but this would bring a whole new meaning to the term “smelly feet” which couldn’t be contained with mouthwash.

Mr Mans answer to everything is Lemsip. My answer to everything (or head colds at least) is a hot drink with a measure of Bailey’s in it. It clears the head and eases aches and pains far better than any of these modern day cold and ‘flu remedies. The trouble is I haven’t actually got any at the moment, so I decided to try hot chocolate with Malibu instead (I didn’t think the coconut flavour would mix well with Barley Cup).

The other problem I had was measuring it. I don’t usually measure anything in the kitchen; cooking always seems to go horribly wrong the moment I start weighing ingredients, so I usually use the old fashioned method of guessing, taught to me by my mother. But I’m actually supposed to be dieting again/still/at the moment so I wanted to be sure of the amount I was drinking. I finally managed to find a measuring cup for cough medicine and I used that to measure out my 25mls!

The drink worked quite well, but you can’t beat a bit of Bailey’s in a hot drink, which of course is made from Whiskey – the original cold remedy.



*The Xtra Factor was the itv2 “behind the scenes” show of The X Factor, presented by Ben Shepherd. The auditionee didn’t literally insert a garlic clove into his bottom live on air, but demonstrated the most effective method by inserting it into a clenched fist!

Today's Top Tip

Don't walk into a room naked when it's dark outside, the curtains are open, and the light is on.

The Hilarious (mis)Adventures of Funky Monkey's Mother

Meet Funky Monkey. She is a normal, if hormonal, 15 year old girl with parents old enough to be her grandparents. Her (much) older siblings have all married and moved on, leaving Funky Monkey to cope with the growing pains of adolescence in the company of her two near retirement age parents, who grew up in a much simpler place in time. Their rural accents and outlook on life are far removed from Funky Monkey’s lipstick and posters, but their warm nature endears you to them. Funky Monkey’s Mother is homely and mothering, and bears a simplistic innocence that prevents her from grasping the concepts of today’s modern living; and so are born The Hilarious (mis)Adventures of Funky Monkey’s Mother…

I realise that many of these tales may be seen as “you had to be there” moments; I only hope I can do these true life tales justice. Funky Monkey’s Mother is just so loveable, and easily the funniest woman I have ever met, but she doesn’t even know she’s doing it. Her reputation precedes her, and no dinner party, day trip, or holiday is deemed complete without her.


Mr Man and I settled down to a game of “Articulate” in which a member of a team has to explain the word written on a card to the other team members without actually saying the word, and then those team members have to guess the word on the card. Funky Monkey, her Mother and her sister were also playing, while Funky Monkey’s Father slouched in front of the TV.

“I can’t read the writing, I haven’t got my glasses on” said Funky Monkey’s Mother, who we will call Peggy. “Wait a minute” she said as she walked over to Funky Monkey’s Father and whipped the glasses from his face, suddenly waking him from his doze. “That’s better” she said, putting on the glasses and joining us again. “Now. It’s a place, and it’s also a cheese” she stated. A stream of guesses quickly followed from all the players, as it was an “All Play”:
“Cheshire”
“Nope”
“Leicester”
“No”
“Gloucester”
“No”
“Cheddar” Mr Man suggested.
Peggy quickly spun round to face Mr Man and hand gestured for him to expand on his answer.
“Cheddar Gorge” he quickly added.
“Yes, that’s it!” She exclaimed.
“Oh, well done Mr Man” “It’s Mr Man again” “He’s too good for us” came the varying responses from the rest of us.
“No, wait a minute” Peggy interrupted. She sat there thinking for a moment.
“What?” we all asked.
“Was it Cheddar Gorge?” she asked herself as she held the card to her chest. “I can’t remember” she said. The rest of us just laughed.
“Why don’t you just look at the card?” Mr Man asked, and we all laughed louder.
She looked at the card again; “No, that’s not right” she confirmed.
A roar of laughter followed from Funky Monkey, her sister and I. We'd been guessing frantically for ages and she couldn't even remember what the answer was! (And I'm sure someone had actually guessed the correct answer, Chester (Is that a cheese?) earlier) Thankfully she’s not easily offended and she’s used to people laughing at the silly things she does.


When it was Funky Monkeys turn to read the card, she described the word “Muppet” as:
“An insult that [Funky Sister] doesn’t like”
“Bitch!” shouted the mild, sweet, innocent Funky Monkey’s Mother.
Shocked, we all burst into screams of laughter.
“No? Is that not right?” she asked innocently…


More Hilarious (mis)Adventures of Funky Monkey’s Mother coming soon!

Diagnosis: Hypochondria

My emotions are in a constant state of flux at the moment; one minute I think I’m going to die from a deadly illness and the next minute I’m relieved to find out that I’m going to live… long enough to discover that I’m dying from a different deadly illness.

There are three little words that no one ever wants to have to say or hear: "pea sized lump". I found one of those in my armpit the other week, and although I tried desperately to convince Mr Man (and myself) that it was nothing more than a swollen lymph node, I couldn’t help thinking to myself “What if…” I’d decided it would be best to get it checked out, but it was the start of the weekend so the doctors surgery was closed… then of course we had the bank holiday… then I was actually too ill to go to the doctors, and by the time I felt well enough to make an appointment it had gone – just as the results of my Google searches had predicted. Phew.

That was a couple of days ago.

Tonight I had a “funny turn”. (Why do people call it that? Has anyone ever actually had a “turn” that was funny?) It wasn’t funny, although I was laughing my head off just before it happened. The next minute I was crying and saying “I don’t feel well”. Everyone was asking me what was wrong and all I could say was “I don’t know, I just don’t feel well”. I wasn’t really aware of what was going on around me, and once I came “out of it” I found it really hard to explain what had happened. I’d experienced some numbness and tingling at the time, so probably due to that and my confusion, Mr Man thought I might have had a mini Stroke. I felt fine afterwards though - if a bit stupid - apart from the head ache it had left me with. Still, I decided to call the "out of hours doctor" service for a bit of advice to put Mr Mans (and my own) mind at rest, and they asked me to “pop along” (as if it was just down the road - it’s actually in the next town) to get checked out. I felt so incredibly stupid driving myself there; there’s obviously not a lot wrong with me if I can drive myself to the next town to get checked out! It was decided that I wasn’t in need of an emergency hospital admission (no, really?) but I was advised to make an appointment to see my GP tomorrow to have some investigations done.

I still feel really stupid about the whole thing, probably because I can’t even explain very well what happened. I’m just really glad that I never did go to the doctors about my death dealing “pea sized lump” because with my “mini Stroke” as well I think the diagnosis would definitely be: “a severe case of hypochondria”.

Do you think I could get a sick note for that?

Mug Shot

I bought myself this mug today. I realise that it's not an entirely new concept, but I think it's a fantastic idea! Mind you I have a bit of a weakness for novelty mugs. It comes with a couple of sticks of chalk to write on the mug with and you can even write on the underneath. The downside is that you get covered in chalk when you use it, but let's not be picky.

I'm tempted to take this mug with me everwhere I go and use it to reflect my feelings. That would definitely work for someone who works in an office I think; you wouldn't have to talk to anyone if you were in a bad mood, you could just write "GO AWAY" on your mug and leave it on your desk. Or you could hand someone a cuppa and hope that they don't realise that you've written "I smell" on the other side... the possiblities are endless.

Tagged with a Meme

Meme (rhymes with gene) - A term coined in 1976 by British Biologist Richard Dawkins. To imitate or to copy. A cultural item that is transmitted by repetition; memes are the cultural counterpart of genes. Examples are tunes, ideas, catch phrases, clothes fashions etc.

I thought my lungs would explode. My heart was pounding. I had stopped running for a moment to catch my breath. My legs were weak. As I hid, a smile broke across my face accompanied by an involuntary giggle; the thrill of the chase, and the satisfaction of outrunning the one who was “it”. I felt like a child again. My childhood memories of running across the playground came flooding back. “Tag!” I heard someone shout, suddenly waking me from my daydream. I looked over my shoulder. It was too late. She’d tagged me and ran away… I had no choice but to play the game...

A - Available/Single? No, I’m married.
B - Best Friend? Mr Man.
C - Cake or Pie? Both. I don’t mean either, I mean both.
D - Drink of Choice? Hot drink: Barley Cup, Cold drink: Diet Pepsi, Alcoholic drink: Malibu. Or Archers. Or a cocktail. Or Baileys… (just kidding, I hardly ever drink alcohol)
E – Essential Item You Use Everyday? My mobile phone – it also contains my address book and diary. Choosing a mobile phone is as serious to me as choosing a marriage partner. Edit: Bog roll - and I take that as seriously as choosing a marriage partner as well - you have to when you use as much as I do.
F - Favourite Colour? Chocolate brown. No, olive green. No, chocolate brown…
G - Gummy Bears Or Worms? Worms are cuter but I wouldn’t eat them.



H - Hometown? I was born in Luton. Edit: Home of the worst one-way traffic system. Did you know that even the schools in Luton have one-way systems in their corridors?
I – Indulgence? Too many. Thornton’s continental chocolates. Expensive toiletries to pamper myself with. Eating/drinking out – cafes in the day time, restaurants in the evening.
J - January Or February? Can I let you know in March? Edit: Whichever one has the most snow.
K - Kids & Their Names? None of my own but I have 15 nieces and nephews with yet another on the way. Some of their names include Hyacinth and Freda. Parents can be so cruel.
L - Life Is Incomplete Without? Love. Edit: and laughter.
M - Marriage date? 27th October 1997.
N - Number Of Siblings? Four brothers and two sisters.
O - Oranges Or Apples? Apples.
P - Phobias/Fears? Spiders, and small toilets (because they’re usually home to spiders and there would be no room to escape!) We have lived in this house for 9 years and I have never set foot inside our small outside toilet.
Q - Favourite Quote? I quote things constantly, from adverts, songs, films… so how long have you got? Edit: "I've never seen anything like it in my life!" - Funky Monkey's Mother.
R - Reason to Smile? I love and I’m loved.
S - Season? I like all four for different reasons, but I don't like the change between each one.
T - Tag People? Mr Grumpy, Aiders, Angela and TP. If I thought they would play the game (or notice that I have tagged them) I would also like to tag Tom Reynolds (and it would also give him something to do while he's off work with a bad knee!), John Robertson, Mark Myers, and OSB. I think their answers would be funny.
U - Unknown Fact About Me? If I tell you it won’t be unknown will it? Edit: Besides, I can't think of one (or I can't think of one that's interesting). Another Edit (April): I've finally thought of one! I like to have the last bowl of cereal out of the box because I think the crumbs make it taste better.
V - Vegetable You Don’t Like? Asparagus.
W - Worst Habit? Why would I want to tell you that? Edit: I have too many bad habits anyway, including changing my mind all the time, so I couldn't possibly choose a worst one!
X - X-rays You’ve Had? My jaw. I think the conclusion was I just talk too much.
Y - Your Favourite Food? This changes daily. At the moment I'm craving a roast dinner because my oven doesn't work and I haven't had one in ages.
Z – Zodiac Sign? Not into that kind of thing.



Photo's from Google Images

Edit: 14th Jan 2007 - I wanted to change my answers already - See Worst Habit!

Model Specification - Human v 1.1

When you don’t feel well bathing is such a chore. Humans should be designed more like self cleaning ovens – you only have to wipe the bottom occasionally and the rest stays clean.

Today's Top Tip

Learn from your mistakes and don't make the same mistake twice.

Experiment

I'm sending this via my new phone. I have no idea how much text I can add to this entry; this is all very new to me. I have to say I am stunned at the level of technology these days. Last time I bought a mobile phone I had to buy a brick sized PDA phone to be able to have the kind of features I wanted. Now I have a cute slimline girly phone in pink with more features than my brain could ever imagine! I may be posting more photo's in future and possibly blog on the go!

Today's Top Tip

Don't buy three boxes of chocolates just because they're on an amazingly special offer, when all you really fancy is a Twix.

Death Wail over Whale Death

I’ve just read about a 43foot dead whale that has washed up on a beach, and the options that supposed “experts” are considering to dispose of the body.

Believe it or not, one option that is being considered, according to the article, is to bury it on the beach. I don’t know about you, but I don’t fancy sitting on a grave site to eat my picnic.

Another option, which thankfully has been ruled out, is to use explosives to destroy the body. I can’t even believe that this option was even given serious consideration.

What has happened to common sense these days? Just tow the blinkin’ thing back out to sea and let nature take its course. You'd think a whale had never died before. What the hell do they think normally happens when a whale dies?

Today's Top Tip

If you put food into your mouth that is too hot it's better to spit it out again than to swallow it quickly and burn your throat.

Soap Box

From olden times when a speaker would literally stand on a soap box to gain height, before making an impromptu speech, often about politics. Used metaphorically to describe a person airing their strong views unofficially and often uninvited, as in: “He’s on his soapbox again”

I was really annoyed last night after reading this post where Angela, a student paediatric nurse, tells us that in her essays her own opinion is viewed as worthless unless she can backup what she says with references to other peoples work.

As I said in the comments section of that post, since when can a student or “ordinary” person not come up with a groundbreaking idea of their own? And I list just three examples:

1. John Nash – who was a student when he came up with his equilibrium theory, which won him the Nobel Prize in economics 44 years later.
2. Patch Adams - who was a student when he envisioned a free hospital which treated patients with love and laughter. He realised this dream for 12 years until the hospital was forced to close due to lack of funding, but he now takes his unique form of medicine around the world to orphans and refugees.
3. Augusto Odone - who had no previous medical background and yet educated himself on his sons condition, Adrenoleukodystrophy (ALD), and came up with a pioneering preventative treatment for the disease.
   

Clearly people don’t have to be highly educated professors who have spent their whole lives studying one particular area, before making a groundbreaking discovery of some kind. All scientific discoveries have to be based on a theory first, which by its very nature is unproven and has no “evidence based practice” to refer to.

I couldn't understand why the views of Angela’s markers had annoyed me so much, but as Mr Man put it "It stifles creative thinking". People should be allowed to develop and become more than what they are in various ways. Intelligence cannot be measured by how much of someone else’s work a person can quote, but by how much they can reason and discover themselves.


Mr Mans Wife steps down from her soap box.

Today's Top Tip

If you suffer from IBS don't go to a Cafe and drink coffee unless they have a toilet...

“Early to bed early to rise…”

Proverb: “Early to bed early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise” Penned by US author Benjamin Franklin in “Poor Richard’s Almanack” 1753.

...2am is not exactly what I had in mind though.

One day seems to be blurring into the next at the moment; my disrupted sleep pattern means I’m never quite sure what day it is. Friday night I tossed and turned until some time past 4:30 Saturday morning, which was the last time I looked at the clock, and I had my alarm set for 10am. That’s not very early I know, but early for me, and especially considering I’d only had half the amount of sleep that I usually need.

Due to not being able to sleep well at night I’ve been sleeping in very late during the day time. People often make the amazingly simplistic suggestion of getting up earlier in the day and then forcing myself to stay up all day, to force my body clock to “reset” itself. That’s a brilliant idea. Why didn’t I think of that? That wasn’t my reason for forcing myself out of bed at 10am after about only 5 hours sleep, but I had hoped that after propping my eyelids open with match sticks all day I would be tired enough to sleep through the night by Saturday evening. Unfortunately sleep problems are never quite as simple as that.

Saturday night I went to bed at some time around 11pm, which I thought was a reasonable time – not too early, not too late. Then at 1:56am, after about only 3 hours sleep, my eyes pinged open like the doors of a department store elevator:

“Ground floor: Perfumery, stationary, and leather goods, wigs and haberdashery, kitchenware and food. Going up . . .” Doo do dodo doo… Doo do dodo doo… *

And here I am: completely exhausted but wide awake.

Man alive, I feel like death.



* Lyrics of the theme tune to “Are you being served” – a British TV comedy which aired from 1972 - 1985

Today's Top Tip

Don't let unopened mail pile up for a month.

Sweet Revenge

After about 12 hours sleep last night I feel much more human, and as mentioned in the comments previously I did manage to get my own back on Mr Man on Wednesday morning.

Most of the time I sleep with earplugs in. This started years ago when some medication that Mr Man was taking made him snore horrendously. Although he doesn’t snore often these days I have become so used to wearing earplugs that even the sound of Mr Mans breathing can keep me awake, especially if I’m not sleeping well anyway. Wednesday morning was one such time. As I reached for my earplugs I recalled a time previously when I had reached for them during the darkness of night and knocked everything on my bedside table flying, obviously waking Mr Man: “What are you doing?” he asked. “I’m getting my earplugs” I replied. “Why? I wasn’t snoring was I?” “No, but I can hear you breathing”. “Sorry for breathing” he huffed sarcastically.

Recalling this event, as Mr Man slept peacefully beside me I burst into laughter, obviously waking him again. “What are you laughing at?” he asked, which made me laugh louder. Through my laughs, which were becoming increasingly louder, I tried to explain. “Alright, settle down” he said – a common expression from him when I have a laughing fit, which always makes me laugh even more. After laughing hysterically for several minutes I think it’s safe to say that his sleep was suitably disturbed.

Let me sleep, and dream of sheep

A line from "And Dream of Sheep" by Kate Bush, "Hounds of Love" album 1985

Well, it’s silly o’clock in the morning and I can’t sleep. I haven’t slept all night. Another one of these stupid phases I go through. I tell you, sometimes I can sleep 10 or more hours a night and have a nap in the day as well, and other times I can’t sleep for toffee. When you can’t sleep you become obsessed with it. As soon as you wake up you want to know what time it is and how long you have slept for. The tiredness drives you insane. I swear I could murder sometimes just through lack of sleep. And that’s another thing: why am I having trouble sleeping when I’m already run down and exhausted anyway? I’m really not very happy about that.

Back to the murder thing though. Last night I couldn’t sleep either. Mr Man was tossing and turning, bouncing the bed around and huffing and puffing, and moaned “I can’t sleep”. It made me laugh when I saw this happen in a comedy sketch recently. Not so funny when you're lying next to it. Finally he got up for a cup of tea. Of course he had to bring it back to bed with him – which means the light has to go on until his tea has reached the optimum temperature for drinking. “Finally, I’m going to get some sleep” I thought, once the light went out.

It was only a few hours before my alarm went off for Mr Mans medication. I nudged him and then rolled over to go back to sleep. Unfortunately though we have the creakiest floor boards in our bathroom in the whole world. So, awake again I thought “While I’m awake I might as well use the loo, and then I can go back to bed and have a nice long sleep”. How wrong was I? I got back into bed and that was it – I was wide awake.

I decided to get up for a while and catch up on some blog reading instead of lying there looking at our ceiling. It’s quite a nice ceiling though. Mr Man painted stars on it in the shape of some constellations with some paint that glows in the dark. Very romantic. Still, not much to look at in day light. You can barely make out the greenish yellow dots in the day time.

By about lunch time I thought maybe I could manage to have an afternoon nap. It still took me ages to drop off to sleep, and then…

the phone rang.

It’s a friend of mine. “Sorry, were you asleep?” “Yes, it’s ok though, don’t worry”. Where did that come from? Of course it’s not ok. I was asleep, and now I’m awake again, how is that ok? She apologised and said goodbye so that I could go back to sleep. That was the theory anyway. I lay there for a while, struggling to get comfortable, and then just as I could feel myself drifting…

the door knocked.

It was nothing of great importance; just a leaflet. I say that as if there could possibly be anything “of great importance” worthy of disturbing my sleep.

By this time I want to put a very large notice on the door saying “GET LOST” for anyone foolish enough to want to knock on my door again; and unplug the phone, switch off the mobile and go back to sleep.

Sleep. Is that too much to ask for?

Now here I am again, and this is where the murder comes in. I have Mr Mans axe here; as you know, all Schizophrenics own an axe in case they decide that they want to run around chopping peoples heads off one day. So if you see the headline "Wife of a Schizophrenic Kills Postman with Axe" that will be me.

Today's Top Tip

Don't eat six Cadbury's Hazelnut Brunch Bars all in one go.

Mr & Mrs Man

While surfing the net one night I was surprised to come across this explanation for the name “Mr Man”.

Obviously my Mr Man is absolutely nothing like this. He adopted the name simply because he loves the Mr Men and has been using the name “Mr Man” since the early days of his musical expression in the mid – late 1980’s. At that time he composed computer generated music for two Amiga demo groups, one British, one European, and used the name Mr Man for his contribution to the groups. Since then he has composed music ranging from classical to techno, with everything else in between, my favourite being his “experimental” ragtime tracks.

Recently I have found that there is more than one “Mr Mans Wife” using the internet. I had been reading the rather new but very interesting blog of Trainee Paramedic, and in order to leave a comment I had to create an AOL account. During the registration process I was asked to provide a display name, but “Mr Mans Wife” was unavailable as it was already in use!

So if you go by the name “Mr Mans Wife” this message is for you:

If you were married before 1997 and your husband has been known internationally as “Mr Man” since before the mid 1980’s you should let me know – otherwise step down as you are clearly an impostor!

Oh listen sister, I love my mister man

From the song "Can't Help Lovin' Dat Man". Lyric by Oscar Hammerstein II, music by Jerome Kern. From the musical "Showboat" 1927.

Ok, I’m writing this blog from the (rather cold) upstairs room of a working mans club. Following on from Mr Mans success in last years table tennis league*, he has decided to play in this years season also. Being the dutiful wife that I am, it is my great pleasure to sit here for 3 hours, freezing my butt off, sitting on a padded bench that is less than comfortable, watching a ping pong ball fly backwards and forwards at varying speeds.

Watching the players is more amusing than interesting: an old lady in shorts enthusiastically bounces the tiny plastic ball on the floor several times before serving, as if she was playing at Wimbledon, and then crouching low she sways keenly from left to right, clutching her bat and staring intently in anticipation for the return of serve, just like they do on the telly – only she misses nearly every ball that comes back to her. It’s then funny to see how she switches from “Wimbledon player” mode to “little old lady” mode as she scurries off in search of the ball. No ball boys here I’m afraid.

There are three players in each team. On our team we have a young lad with his proud parents sitting about 8 feet away from me. With each shot he tends to step forward, stamping his foot hard on the floor, as he pushes his bat from his chest in a deliberate and forceful manner, as if pushing a lawnmower. If he’d like to strengthen that back hand further he’s more than welcome to train on our lawn - lawn mower provided at no extra charge. I almost forgot to mention the hilarious flick of the head that he does each time he serves, which is obviously funnier to see than to read about, not to mention the facial expressions. I’d love to have taken a photograph of him but obviously this would interfere with anonymity.

The other player in our team is the only Chinese man in the league – a nation notoriously good at table tennis, it being their national sport. He gives us the pleasure of being able to see his legs, which are shaped like chicken drumsticks (although clearly shaved rather than plucked), and make me feel even hungrier.

In the opposing team is the old lady mentioned previously and also an old man who is quite tall and lanky, and he poses at the table like a Tyrannosaurus Rex; legs apart, knees slightly bent, leaning foward at a 45 degree angle, and holding his left wrist to his chest, dangling his hand in front of him. I couldn’t resist taking a photograph of this man; I’m not so concerned about anonymity with him as I guess one Tyrannosaurus Rex looks pretty much the same as another.

Later…
I’ve just been downstairs to the bar to get myself a drink, and the prospect of sitting there in an empty bar with my drink, which tastes more like fizzy water than the Pepsi it’s supposed to be, and listening to Lionel Richie with the ugly young barman, is far more appealing than the alternative. Still, I trundle off back up the stairs in time for Mr Mans match. He’s quite a lazy player; he hardly moves his feet at all, unlike the third member of the opposing team, who is forced to run 20 feet back from the table to return Mr Mans shots. The opponent is quite normal looking, even quite good looking (sorry Mr Man), although a bit goofy... and he has a big nose... and his eyes are a bit small... ok, he’s actually only good looking from a distance. He’s almost given up hope after losing the first two games 11-2 and 11-2 but after some mid match coaching from one of his team mates (you’d never get away with that at Wimbledon), he finally manages to triumph over Mr Man, although probably not through a huge change of his own game play; Mr Man is not yet as fit as he used to be, and was hanging over the table by this point. Obviously his opponent thought this would be an easy match as Mr Mans team has just been promoted from a lower division, but suitably impressed by Mr Mans technique, he approaches him after the match to “fish” for information about his table tennis back ground. “You must have played for quite a high division before your break away from the game” he prompts. Mr Man, preferring to remain the enigma that he is, simply replies with “yeah” **. I love that man.

The last game of the evening is a doubles game, played by Mr Man and Chinese Chicken Legs against T Rex and Navratilova’s mother – Goofy and the Lawnmower Kid sit this one out. Soon it’s time to finally go home. Just before we leave though the Wimbledon woman wants to examine Mr Mans bat. It seems she can't quite believe that someone else could possibly possess more skill than herself and outplay her. Baffled by his very ordinary bat, she hands it back and we set off.

Cold, hungry, aching, and looking at chicken legs all night, how could I resist nipping into good old KFC on the way home?



* His team finished at the top of the division and he won the highest percentage of games in his division, winning himself a nice shiny trophy.

** Mr Man previously played for the Premier division before a break away from the game of about 7 years, due to illness.

Today's Top Tip

Don't rest hot buttered toast on your lap without a plate.

Pains in the Published

As you can see from the title, this blog entry was inspired by “Pains in Public” by Andrew Holmes. With every page I read I kept thinking “I should write something like this about authors”. I know this may seem like an obvious statement to make, but I don't like reading unless it's enjoyable. Actually I've spent most of my life thinking that I simply don't like reading, when in fact it's just taken me most of my life to find something worth the effort. This post doesn’t just cover the written word that has been published though; it covers any written word which has to be read and really puts people off reading altogether. This can be anything from emails to … well, blogs. It is not my intention to insult or offend anyone; this is just a collection of what I personally find to be pains in the written word. You may or may not agree.


I’ve swallowed a dictionary (and it’s stuck in my throat)
Who can be bothered to read a book when you have to re-read every sentence after looking up the words in a dictionary? This is annoying because it has more to do with appearing intellectual than sharing a talent to bring enjoyment to others. Those who write poetry can sometimes be like this. For them writing is an intellectual exercise designed to impress, rather than an expression of thought or emotion. A classic example is a poem I read about depression. The author shall remain anonymous, and I just hope she never reads this blog – other wise I could be adding hate mail to my list of pains in the written word. The poem was very dramatic as it described the bony hand of death pushing the author into the abyss of despair, and the “racking spasms which chafe and gnaw”. P-lease. When I was depressed the only spasms I had were caused by my irritable bowel syndrome. Is it me, or is that kind of poetry really boring? (Except the bit about falling “down, down, down” into the pit, “down though the abysmal hollows of sufferance”, which considering the poem was about the very serious subject of depression, had me crying with laughter) Although the piece was very “poetic”, it was obvious that the writer didn’t have a clue what she was writing about. Well, as I’ve probably said many times before, I’m not a writer of any kind, but here is my effort about depression, full of feeling and meaning…

Man, I feel like crap.
The End


Let’s go all around the houses… (Or “Would you accompany me on this vast literary journey, which takes us through several English country sides, so that we can admire the beauty of nature on our way to our destination?)
These ones are closely related to the “I’ve swallowed a dictionary” type, because they also use ridiculous words that your average Joe Public wouldn’t use in every day speech, but also it takes them forever to say it. So, instead of saying something like: “Although it was a sunny day, it was cold and damp enough to take your breath away”, they might say: “As the sunlight seeped in though the opening of the curtains, its brilliance reflected off each tiny particle of dust hovering in the air, illuminating them like fragments of faceted diamonds. A hazy mist could be seen over the dew covered fields, and a cold dampness peculiar to that time of year filled the air and asphyxiated all who inhaled the unwelcoming atmosphere.”
For these ones, the content itself is not really important, but how the content is written. Indeed the story could be total cack, as long as it’s written beautifully. I once started reading a book and never got past the first page, because that whole first page was spent describing the scenery and the weather, and I started to wonder if there were any characters in the story at all, or if the whole book was going to be a very fancy weather forecast. Can you imagine that? “For those who live beyond the hills and valleys of Yorkshire, currently shrouded in a blanket of freshly fallen snow, which glistens in the moonlight and lays undisturbed like the skin of a gently perspiring virginal young maiden in deep slumber; you may experience the wrath of the skies, with lightening like flashes of anger, lashing against the darkness like a horse whip, and forcing the rain to gallop ever faster to the saturated ground…” By the time the weatherman had finished giving the weather forecast, we’d be in a different season.


The kewl ones
Of course, at the other end of the scale are those who wish to appear clever in quite a different way. Evryfin they rite has 2 b re-spelt as if th Inglish langwij woznt gud enuf. I can understand that in writing text messages words may have to be shortened to save having to send 50 texts at a time, but why do these people continue writing this way in every other area of life? Message boards, emails – they all become a nightmare to read. You know, I had heard that this kind of spelling was even finding its way into school work. But the re-spelling which seems totally pointless to me is when the words are exactly the same length, just spelt wrongly, like “kewl” instead of “cool” or “woz” instead of “was”. It doesn’t seem very efficient to me, it just means you have to learn two languages instead of one.


Abbr.
Abbreviations really annoy me. The only thing worse than reading an abbr. is hearing one being spoken, such as “ASAP” or “TTFN”. My Maths teacher (yes, I realise that "Maths" is an abbr.) always used to say "thou" instead of "thousand" and it was so irritating. I realise that sometimes abbreviations are necessary, again such as in writing text messages as one example, but in most areas they are completely unnecessary and rather than showing efficiency just show pure laziness in the use of the English language. One news article I read recently spoke of an “Ass Ch Con” – a what? It’s only through reading Police Blogs that I could hazard a guess that this was supposed to be an “Assistant Chief Constable”, but you can’t presume that Jo Public is going to know that. In fact, I did a search for “Ass Ch Con” on several websites for "Abbreviations and Acronyms", including Police websites which have an abbreviations page. They all came up with nothing. The abbreviation doesn’t appear to exist, except perhaps in a journalists note pad somewhere.


The writers who swear all the [bleep] time
I can’t tell you how much this [bleep]s me off. It’s so [bleep] irritating and [bleep] unnecessary. They’ll try to tell you that it helps them to get their point across, or that context calls for it in a scene where emotions run high – [bleeeeeeeep]! It’s more to do with their limited vocabulary and trying to give the impression that they’re:

• Individual – as in the case of teenagers trying to gain the respect of their peers and show the older generation that they won’t be confined by their rules
• “With it” – as in the case of people who want to show that they’re “in touch” with “life on the street” and they know “what’s going down”
• Still “with it” – as in the case of middle aged people trying to gain the respect of the younger generation
• “No nonsense” kind of people – as in the case with people who are insecure and unsure of themselves but want to give the impression that they’re confident and not afraid of anyone
• Funny – as in the case where a sweet old lady will blurt out an obscenity in a comedy sketch, to shock people into laughter. This sometimes works, but very rarely. This kind of attempt at humour is often overused or overdone.

Just to illustrate the point about having a limited vocabulary: recently a friend of mine was trying to explain to me how something had “gone wrong”. Due to children being nearby she leant over and quietly asked “What’s another way of saying f***ed up?” to which I replied “messed up?”


They are the five main styles or areas of writing that really annoy me, however there is another area of the written word that really annoys me, and that is misteaks or things that just are wrote bad. Now, don’t get me wrong, I know we are all imperfect, and I make enough written mistakes of my own, but surely something as important as news websites should be read by proof readers before being uploaded onto the net? Recently I came across an article on a news website about a popular comedy being shown at cinemas, which said in part: “The film has described as a "mockumentary" which follows Mr Cohen's travel across the US.” This obviously should have read “The film has been described…” or “The film is described…” not “The film has described…” That is just one example of regular findings of poor grammar on this particular news site, as well as numerous spelling errors.

There are other written things that I can’t/won’t read because they bore me to death (and I’m really not ready to die yet), such as “small print” or legal documents – very important but very boring; and instructions – again, very important but very boring, so thankfully I have Mr Man to speed read these things for me and then explain the gist of the content.

Thank goodness for the recent craze of Blogging. It has enabled me to find some reading material actually worth reading, and some of that has come from the most unexpected places – people who I actually know that have an amazing talent which I knew nothing about. I know some people may be bored by the endless amounts of Blogs available for reading, or maybe they feel it’s becoming a bit “old hat” or that every Tom, Dick or Harry is jumping on the “bandwagon”, but I feel that Blogging is something to be encouraged. It’s about time that we had a “fashionable” way of encouraging the art of writing, especially for the younger generation. Everyone wants to receive the compliment that their Blog is “well written”, or to have other “important” or “well educated” people show their admiration by linking to their Blog, and so I think this encourages people to try to improve their writing skills and think more about their style of writing. Surely, this has got to be a good thing.

The Hitchhikers Guide to the Blogosphere

Have you ever tried clicking that little button in the top right hand corner entitled “next blog”? I sat here clicking it the other night, and this is what I found, in descending order from the most numerous:

Most of the Blogs were foreign and I couldn’t understand a word.

Another high percentage were actually advertising products or services. I suppose signing up for a Blog is an ideal way of getting free web space with all of the site design completed for you – you just have to type your text and upload an image of what you are selling.

Lots of people use Blogs to keep family and friends updated on their travelling adventures if they decide to take a trip oversees. These include lots of photographs. They're like a cyber postcard which has numerous advantages: 1. It "arrives" much quicker, 2. It only has to be "posted" once for everybody, rather than writing and posting serveral cards to different people in the persons address book, 3. The cyber postcard can be updated everyday, 4. Family can even "post" back in the comments section, although I thought people went away to avoid having to talk to family members for a while?

Some people use Blogs just as a way of sharing with people a hobby that they enjoy, such as classic cars, or even clothes shopping, again with lots of photographs.

A few people actually use Blogs as a diary strangely enough.

And then there are classics such as this.

Also I came across this Blog which I thought was an unbelievably cute idea, bringing out the very girly side of me. "I want one! I want one!" And incidentally this is where my first “Button” came from. But also it raises the very serious issue of awareness for people who struggle on a day to day basis with these kinds of “invisible” illnesses.

I know there are many other types of Blog, but these are the ones which I personally came across during my cyber travels… I hope the links compensate for my lack of photographs of cyber space.

I'm a Barbie Girl

A UK #1 hit for Scandinavian pop group "Aqua" in 1997

Regular visitors will notice that there have been a lot of changes going on with the links in the side bar. This is due to my recent fascination with “Buttons”. I know it may seem amateurish to some, and it’s something that will make me stand out, appearing to be a typical “newbie” to the internet and blogging (being dazzled by pretty things that do “stuff”), but I’m a girl and I like pretty things, and I make no excuses for that. Being the easily impressed, dumb, (born) blonde that I am, I tend to click on links just because I like the name on them, or because they’re pretty. I'm like a moth to a flame: "Don't look at the light!" "I can't help it, it's so beautiful" - Quote from A Bugs Life