Fastest Finger First

Why would an articulated lorry have a sign on its back warning of a finger trap?

Surely, if such a thing was designed to actually trap fingers, then displaying a sign drawing people's attention to its presence would defeat the object. Unless, I suppose, the point is to trap the fingers of all the silly types of people that would see a notice like that, think "finger trap, eh? We'll see about that…" *snap* "Argh!"

I guess that would be one way of getting idiots off the streets. Possibly quite a good way, actually. I might have to look into getting a gadget like that for the back of my car.

It seems more likely to me, however, that this is not, in fact, a plot to capture unwary bodily parts, but a genuine warning. However, this then raises the question of exactly why has a self-confessed finger trap been put there at all?

There's another option, I suppose. Perhaps these signs are designed to put off would-be criminals by suggesting that it's really not worth their time or trouble to attempt to break into the lorry's trailer? I mean, you see signs warning of "guard dogs" being on duty, or trespassers being shot. Perhaps these advertisements for impending digit snaring are also of this ilk.

But, even so, the prospect of possibly getting your fingers a bit tangled up doesn't seem quite as dangerous or sexy as facing down angry, slavering and pointy-toothed death, or being shot in the arse with an air rifle.

I'm afraid I just don't get it. Comments or suggestions welcome.

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No Pea Plea

I would like to politely request that peas be outlawed.

And, no, I do not believe that this is unreasonable of me.

This plea has come about as the result of a nightmarish experience that I had this afternoon. I was ambushed. By my food, of all things.

I bought a pasty from the nice trolley lady (the lady with the food cart, not a grotesque dwarf lady who lives under a bridge) and I made a horrific discovery.

Yes. It was peas. Well done, you, for guessing. You can have a gold star.

Now, it is my opinion that this type of food booby-trapping should not be allowed! I should be able to enjoy what is, in my experience, normally a wholesome, enjoyable and, most importantly, completely-devoid-of-peas food item in a safe and non-threatening legume-free environment.

It is simply not acceptable that my lunchtimes be terrorised by extraneous vegetables. Especially not ones that I dislike intensely.

We live in a world in which companies have to point out to people that coffee may, in fact, be hot; that peanuts may, incredibly, contain nuts; that you should not use a hairdryer to dry your hair whilst you are still in the shower; and that carelessness causes fire. So, even if an outright ban on peas is not feasible, would it not – at the very, very least – be reasonable for caterers who feel the need to tamper with long-established recipes, such as those for pasties, to supply a warning on their resulting unholy and sacrilegious creations to that very effect?

A catastrophe could have been averted today, if only somebody had shown a bit of initiative. After the cooking process, that is. They showed quite enough in the early stages, thank you very much.

And, no – before any of you pea-defenders out there start on me – peas are not "inoffensive". Why is it that the best word that anybody can think of to use in their defence is that one? Nobody has ever tried to convince me that peas are "nice" or "tasty", or in any way likely to contribute to an enjoyable culinary experience… No, the best I ever hear is that peas should not cause me offence.

Well, they do. They upset me greatly.

And, anyway, inoffensive is such a broad term. I find postboxes inoffensive. I see no offence in hamsters, gerbils, guinea pigs, or other such rodents. I take no umbrage at pine furniture.

I have never felt affronted by Bruce Forsythe.

But I wouldn't appreciate seeing any of those things wrapped up in pastry and masquerading as my lunch. No matter how hungry I was. And sometimes I get very hungry indeed.

I once discovered a rogue pea in a curry. For the record, it was a very hot curry – either a vindaloo or a phall – and there was a random pea lying, maliciously, in wait for me. A malevolent, sneaky ninja pea which I inadvertently ate. And, despite all the strong spices and flavourings of the curry, I could still taste it. And it tasted bad. Very bad. In fact, if I had not been able to taste its peaish nastiness, how else could I have possibly known that it had been there, eh?

Now, I'm not well up on my fairy tales, but I'm fairly certain that this was one of those tests that demonstrates whether or not a person is actually a princess. And I shall be looking into this.

And – rest assured – should I find out that I am a princess, I shall be rallying royal support for my anti-pea campaign.

And using the words peas and inoffensive in a sentence together will become tantamount to treason, so be warned.

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I've Found My 18 Pence!

Well, actually I've found 2 pence. But I've also realised today that I'd transposed two figures, and wasn't 18p adrift at all.

So, in fact, I'm now 2p up. Result!

So, only partially incompetent, then. And to think that I used to work in Payroll.

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Do Zombies Wear Helmets?

Whilst playing Rayman Raving Rabbids on my friend's Wii:

Me: Are you sure they're not zombie rabbits? They're coming out of graves.

Friend: Yes, but they're wearing helmets.

So, then: being undead and wearing protective headgear… Mutually exclusive?

Discuss.

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There's Something Nasty In The Woodshed

There is a spider in the shed that is almost as big as my head. I am not impressed by this.

It's so big that I've got these horrible images of me going in there to feed the ferrets and it leaping off the window and attaching itself to my face, before implanting an alien in my chest that will burst out unannounced the next time I'm eating with friends; hide behind some shelves for a bit, whilst growing to a height of approximately eight feet; then slowly pick my friends off, one at a time – some it will kill and others it will take back to its queen to face a fate of bondage and more giant spiders – with its huge claws and lightning fast inner jaw. And, if anyone tries to attack it, it'll bleed everywhere and burn holes in the carpet.

I'd hate that.

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The Squirrel Conundrum

I've lost 18 pence. It's quite worrying.

For the last few days, I've been keeping a meticulous log of all my outgoings – from the money in my bank, right down to the cash in my wallet.

I reconciled my cash at the weekend, and it was spot-on. Now, suddenly, I'm 18 pence adrift.

Of course, I don't in any way consider this to be a large or important sum of money. I'm just scared by the fact that I seem to be either unable to count, completely incompetent, or a combination of both.

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I got rather upset whilst driving my car this afternoon. And I don't mean in the shouting-at-bad-drivers kind of way.

An animal of some kind – I think it was a squirrel, but I couldn't be certain in all the excitement – ran out of the road in front of me.

I braked as hard as I could, but I still heard a sad little thud.

Luckily, however, when I looked in my rear-view mirror I saw the same animal finish darting across the road and disappear off into the woods. So it was neither dead, crippled nor stunned at that point.

Now, there's something loose inside my boot (not a euphemism, before you start) that donks against the car when I go round tight bends. I'm desperately hoping that the sound I heard was of that hitting the back of the boot when I hit the breaks, and that no squirrels were harmed in the making of this journey home.

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Egg Balancing

I conferred today with other people who also had a Cadbury's Creme Egg Minis Easter Egg this year.

The consensus seems to be that the standard number of actual Creme Egg Minis that you should expect to find inside one of these Easter Eggs is a less-than-impressive two. Not great, I'm sure you'll agree; but since two is more than one, the manufacturer is not technically inaccurate here in their use of the word minis. Personally, however, I do consider it rather cheeky.

Anyway, the nature of balance in all things leads me to subsequently conclude from this revelation that if some of us have only received one of these miniature chocolate eggs when the standard is set at two, then somewhere out there are people who got three.

Which can ultimately mean only one thing:

Somebody has got my Creme Egg.

So, if this is you, please feel free to either pop the superfluous egg in the post – to the usual address, or just leave it on top of my car.

Thank you.

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Word Of The Week [No. 1]

Mandibles

Top word, that.

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The Curious Case Of The Elusive Easter Eggs - SOLVED

We have Easter Eggs! Yay!

After traipsing across the countryside in search of an even bigger supermarket than the ones we'd tried already (in the hope that bigger does necessarily equal better), but finding it closed, we eventually found overly-expensive salvation sitting on the shelf in our local corner shop.

We don't have much, but we have something. I am happy now.

Alright, so perhaps this particular case hasn't actually been solved in the strictest (or, in fact, any) sense of the word; but my part in the investigation will be ending here, since I've got what I came for. And, after all, that's all that's really important, isn't it?

Interestingly, though, today's excursion has demonstrated to me that potential Police Trap Cars are a heck of a lot easier to spot when the supermarket is closed all day.

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The Curious Case Of The Elusive Easter Eggs

Where the hell are all the Easter Eggs?

I was promised last-minute Easter Eggs today, but nobody seems to be selling them anymore. The sole exception is our local Somerfield, who have row upon row of Creme Egg Minis ones. But I'm not falling into that trap again.

I guess it doesn't help that supermarkets start selling Easter food in January (in fact, if I didn't know better, I'd guess that the eggs actually lie in ambush on the shelves behind the Christmas chocolate) – you could hardly expect all of the shops to remain fully stocked right up to Easter weekend when they start so bloomin' early – but, even so, I'm still a little surprised by this.

Whatever is going on?

Has there been a grand heist about which elaborate and exaggerated stories of intrigue and skulduggery will be passed down to future generations for centuries to come?

"Come sit on yer old Grandad's knee and let me tell you all about the time that they tried to steal Easter…"

Are we living in times of a national Easter Egg shortage? And, if so, does that mean that there'll be a ban in the summer?

Is it a conspiracy? Everyone loves a conspiracy. Is there an embargo because I've been moaning about my meagre Creme Egg Minis ration? Perhaps they're all out to get me. Maybe the stores have all got plenty of Easter Eggs left in stock, but they've set up special revolving shelves just for whenever I walk in. Everybody else gets to go in and browse a veritable cornucopia of seasonal chocolatey goodies, and all I get to choose from is some toothpaste, a few biscuits and some fleece blankets?

Any other ideas or, indeed, answers? I'd be interested to hear them.

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Kinder Surprise Watch

Not dreadfully exciting, but they're currently on offer in my local supermarket, so I felt the need to splurge.

Today's yield consists of a pink Cadillac, a mustard yellow sports car, a glorified colouring crayon in a hat (disappointingly, my second of these) and a boss-eyed, yet satisfyingly furry, lilac-coloured monkey chap.

Part of me is certain that toys made more sense back in my day, but I'm probably wrong.

Alarmingly, on second inspection the monkey looks a bit like Robbie Williams in a purple chimp suit.

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How Many Creme Egg Minis Does It Take To Fill An Easter Egg?

I confess I've just opened an Easter egg a little early.

I did have my reasons, but they are too dull to go into in any great detail. I will simply say that they involved the craving for something sweet, and something that I once heard on the BBC about an ingredient in chocolate being good for coughs.

And I have one hell of a cough right now.

Yes, yes… I'll see a doctor next week. Honest.

Still, I was a little bemused to discover that the promised "bag of Cadbury Creme Egg Minis" supposedly enclosed within the hollow chocolate egg was actually more a "bag of Cadbury Creme Egg Mini".

In fact, they could really have not bothered with bagging it at all. What were the makers worried would happen? It might scatter all over the floor when I separated the halves?

The (somewhat blurry and badly photographed) lie

The shocking reality

It's a sad (and deeply disappointing) day when confectionery manufacturers don't know the difference between singular and plural.

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That'll Bloody Learn Me! You'd hope.

And there was me defending Grumpy Ferret's honour by claiming that he'd been really good and not-really-very-bitey recently.

I believed it. I honestly did.

But first, a bit of background:

There is a certain blue, knobbly squeaky toy that the boys play with sometimes. It's actually quite stiff, so they never cause it to squeak themselves, but if I pick it up and squeak it for them they go wild.

Admittedly, I've never been terribly certain if this is because they really love the sound of it squeaking, or they really hate the sound. I'm actually still not too sure, but Biscuits definitely got a little over-excited this last time.

As did I, in fact, after he had leapt up and given the bottom of my thumb the Grip of Death.

I'm not proud of it, but I think I nearly strangled him in my attempts to dissuade him. All he decided to do, however, was take this as an opportunity to adjust his grip and clamp down again.

I have counted a total of 10 toothmarks on my hand, half of them bleeding slightly. I also have an attractive lump of flesh that is now only attached in one place by a thin piece of skin. This can be flipped in and out of the surrounding hand on demand.

And I actually swore very loudly when I cleaned this particularly nasty wound up, which isn't like me.

Well, swearing loudly is very much like me; but being such a girl about a little bit of antiseptic really isn't.

The final outcome?

Well, he's right back in the naughty books. Although, I did later let him lick my nose as a show of good faith.

I guess I never will bloody learn.

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Things I've Learned From… Ghost Stories [Part 2]

6. Timing:

All the bad things effecting you will ultimately build up to a simultaneous crescendo.

Analysis:

• Look on the bright side: yes, your home may be haunted and the spirits of troubled and crazed dead people trying to kill you; but once it's all reached its peak, the air will be cleared. And all your personal problems will somehow be magically resolved as well.

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7. Family Pets:

Animals will not be happy staying somewhere that's haunted, and will try to escape at every opportunity.

Analysis:

• Just because you're far too insensitive, stubborn and/or sceptical to believe there's such a thing as a ghost, and even though it's tantamount to animal cruelty, force your pets to tolerate being scared witless every time you take them home. After all, they're probably just being melodramatic because it's a new and unfamiliar place. And you can understand that; the place makes you rather uneasy too. But it certainly isn't haunted: you don't believe in things like that.

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8. Family Pets That Have Succeeded In Running Away:

As soon as the aforementioned simultaneous crescendo has been reached, lost pets will come bounding back home.

Analysis:

• Once something leaves your field of vision, it technically no longer exists: it goes into a kind of stasis. You therefore never have to worry about lost pets, since life will be unable to throw anything nasty at them whilst they are out of your care. As soon as the aforementioned simultaneous crescendo has occurred, they will come happily trotting home uninjured, and as if nothing had happened. Then you'll have to start feeding and looking after them again.

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8. Coincidence:

Strike this word from your vocabulary.

There can be no such thing as a coincidence, because that would look far too fabricated.

Analysis:

• Everything in life is part of some bigger, totally convoluted – and sometimes utterly unbelievable – plan. No, really, it is.

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Well, I've finally finished reading it. It took long enough.

Not the author's best by quite some way, I'm afraid.

Or, rather, I'm not afraid, which is what actually seems to be the problem.

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"The Night Seems To Fade…"

I keep getting Kingston Town in my head on loop.

It's been happening for a couple of days now. I wish I knew what was triggering it.

I know that the short bit of music that Windows plays when it starts up sometimes leads me to have Livin' On A Prayer by Bon Jovi in my head, as it reminds me of part of the instrumental in the middle. I can sort of understand that, but this recent invasion of UB40 seems totally random.

I also now keep being haunted by Ravel's Bolero and a random Queen number crossed with one of the songs from the movie Labyrinth.

If anybody has any suggestions or insights into this – or if you just think that I'm going off my rocker – please feel free to let me know.

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One Month On…

And I still have this bloody cough.

If only that statement was an April Fool's Day gag.

I keep getting nagged at to consult a doctor, but I'm stalling: I don't get on with doctors. They just don't seem to like me.

I've been browsing WebMD. I can see why that's a dangerous thing to do if you scare easily. Just by looking up my coughing symptoms alone, I've already been pointed in the direction of whooping cough, bronchitis, tuberculosis and the Black Death.

Oddly, though, it's the idea of seeing a doctor that bothers me the most.

More on this exclusive and fascinating story as it breaks.

Aren't I good to you?

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Altered State

I'm in a strange mood today. I have random, uninvited attitude.

It seems that every time I open my mouth at the moment, something feisty jumps out without first consulting my brain.

Is Blind Date still on the telly these days? Perhaps I should apply.

I'd probably win, and get to spend a day go-karting with a complete dickhead who has plaited hair and short trousers and who fancies the Cadbury's Caramel bunny.

Result.

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Cheese + Cake = Apparently Impossible To Get Rid Off

I seem to have inherited three slices of cheesecake.

How is it that the people around me seem always to covet cheesecake, yet refuse it when it's actually offered to them?

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Adventures In Smell And Taste

I'm feeling a little disheartened today.

With coffee, of all things.

How can it be that something that smells so good can sometimes simply fail to deliver in the taste department?

I'm not saying that coffee never tastes good: I happen to love coffee. I'm just saying that sometimes coffee smells outrageously gorgeous but then doesn't live up to its promise.

Perhaps the coffee in question – the coffee that broke my heart – just wasn't strong enough on the day.

Who knows?

That said, I bought a box of those 'instant cappuccino' sachets the other day (admittedly from Poundland – it seemed like a money-wise and, therefore, clever idea at the time). Once water was added, they smelled a bit like brown rice. And they tasted like the water brown rice had been boiled in.

So, I guess, coffee doesn't always smell good either.

It usually does, though.

Although, now that I think about it, it's probably just as well that everything I like the smell of doesn't taste good, or I'd probably have developed quite a nasty Creosote, matt emulsion and petrol habit by now.

Not mixed together, of course. What a silly thing for you to even suggest.

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Bug-Busting

I can't seem to find it on the Internet anymore, but there used to be a place that sold life-size (8') replica aliens – from the movie of the same name.

Admittedly, they were a little too expensive – and pointless, if I'm entirely honest – for me, but I came up with this idea.

I'm not a big fan of spiders, as you may or may not know, and it has been known for me to approach friends and family members for help in removing them from my home.

I remember thinking that it would be funny to set up a life-size alien in my bath, then call my dad and ask him to come over and dispose of a "nasty-looking beastie".

It would probably be funny right up until the moment he walked into the bathroom and had a coronary, anyway.

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You'll Like This; Not A Lot, But You'll Like It

I met an interesting man today.

I was driving to Bath to visit some friends, and I stopped off at some motorway services, fancying a coffee.

It turns out that – randomly – WHSmith's now have a cappuccino/latte/espresso machine. It's self-service, so you get an empty cup and operate the machine yourself. Then you take the finished drink to the till.

Well, I pressed the buttons, watched the froth ooze out, added some sugar, and finally popped a plastic lid on the resulting concoction. Then I went to pay for it, and the guy behind the till rang up latte without even asking me.

I asked him how he knew what drink I had, and he informed me that he was "magical in ways I will never understand".

Just how do you possibly respond to that?

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Advertisers' Nightmare

I'm possibly missing the point here, but why would I want to spend money and time out of my day on buying and applying make-up that's designed to make me look like I'm not wearing make-up?

"It's you, only better." And slightly poorer. And with a bit less time on your hands.

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The Texas Brolly Massacre

I've stumbled across a curious superstition. Apparently, if you drop an umbrella on the floor there will be a murder in the house.

Unfortunately, I don't know where my umbrella is, so I can't put this to the test.

Once I've found it again, however, I shall carelessly lob it around for a bit and see what transpires.

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Good (Word) Show!

I'll shall now be adding cadaver to my list of top words.

I think I like it because it reminds me of the word cad, which in turn makes me think of moustached Terry-Thomasesque characters.

In fact, it gives me fantastic images of well-dressed plummy zombies sporting military moustaches and ambling around in dressing gowns, smoking jackets and/or leather flying helmets, giving their victims broad gap-toothed smiles right before eating their brains.

Now, I think that would be a jolly good show.

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The Bedwich Cuckoo

I'm beginning to suspect that there's some kind of strange magnetic field around the Bedford area that causes people's indicator lights to fail.

Through some miracle, however, it seems to leave brake lights intact.

Although, at night it also strikes the occasional set of headlights.

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Dead Pet Bingo

I've been told that the sole surviving family cat is getting old and poorly.

This is not good news.

I'm now in danger of reaching a terrible score of 100% dead cats. This is unacceptable!

Still, I'll believe it when I see it; my sources do have a tendency to be a little overly-dramatic about these things – she's only 16, and she's probably just got a bit of trapped wind, or something.

The cat, that is; not my source.

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Gesundheit!

It would appear that I have some competition in the top quality poetry writing stakes:

If you sneeze on a Monday, you sneeze for danger;
Sneeze on a Tuesday, kiss a stranger;
Sneeze on a Wednesday, sneeze for a letter;
Sneeze on a Thursday, something better;
Sneeze on a Friday, sneeze for sorrow;
Sneeze on a Saturday, see your sweetheart tomorrow.
Sneeze on a Sunday, and the devil will have domination over you all week.

I find the final line especially powerful. It really rolls off the tongue.

Source: www.corsinet.com

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Whereabouts On Roundabouts?

Exactly how bloomin' difficult is it to get in the correct lane when using roundabouts?

You see, I thought that it was quite straight-forward, but – having experienced yet another near-miss this morning with some numpty or another – you'd think it was bloody rocket science!

It isn't even as if there aren't massive signs making it more than abundantly plain exactly whereabouts you should be sticking your car.

Lane discipline, people, please!

End of rant.

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Car Park Catch-Out Revisited aka Car Park Catch-On

I'm thinking of having a car sticker made up with the Police Trap Car logo on it.

I reckon that putting one of those in my back window would guarantee that nobody will ever break into or try to steal my car.

Maybe we should all do that.

Maybe all it would take to totally eradicate car crime is a few thousand square yards of thin plastic and a supermarket car park.

It's incredible that nobody thought of it sooner.

And, if you live anywhere near me, it might also be worth having a sticker made up that says Police Anti Narrow-Keelless-Boat-Propelled-By-Paddling Silliness Trap Car as well.

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Car Park Catch-Out

I'm seeing a theme emerge each time I visit a supermarket.

It involves a clever new idea that the police seem to have come up with involving trying to stitch people up in car parks.

Yes, it's the Police Trap Car.

For those of you who haven't seen this yet, this is basically a scheme that involves the local police combining a spare car with some surveillance equipment, and then planting it in a public car park. The plan is that – with a bit of luck – somebody will come over all light-fingered and then get caught in the act. And, presumably, arrested.

Admittedly, I'm not entirely certain if these fabled trap cars actually exist, or if (so cynical am I) money has just been spent purely on erecting signs that may function as a deterrent, but – either way – I am now studying all the parked cars with interest and suspicion.

I recently noticed – for example – about ten feet away from the nearest sign, a tatty old red van with open rear doors and tools lying messily in the back. Unfortunately, this is the exact sort of daftly optimistic set-up that I expect from people.

I'm also particularly suspicious of cars that are parked right next to the aforementioned signs. Because that's the exact sort of daftly optimistic double-bluff that I expect from people.

I would like to believe, however, that – in the case of the red van – I was actually witnessing a brazen triple-bluff being carried out by a plucky member of the public.

Although, I suspect that this time it's me who's being daftly optimistic.

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Foresight And Hindsight Insight

Whilst out with friends today, I noticed an interesting sign outside Asda:

Free eye test with every pair of glasses

Or words to that effect.

So, does that mean that you've got to buy the glasses before you get the eye test? What if you buy the wrong ones?

What if, for example, you buy glasses that correct short-sightedness and then have an eye test that concludes that you're actually long-sighted?

Will the staff just point and laugh at you, before calling you a sucker and charging you for the correct pair of glasses?

And, if that happened, would you then have to face the ultimate insult of earning another free eye test, which by now would be of no use to you?

I wonder if the free eye test is transferable. Perhaps, if one person was prepared to be the fall guy, they could get as far as buying two pairs of glasses, then pass the second free eye test on to somebody else; who could then buy the correct glasses the first time around, earn their free eye test and pass it on to somebody else. And so on and so forth.

I think it would work, but we'll come unstuck the second anybody with good vision gets caught up in the loop…

That said, I'm sure a quick poke with a fork could soon fix that.

Otherwise, I've got this nightmare vision of somebody walking into Asda, buying a nice pair of glasses and then having an free eye test that concludes that they had perfect vision all along.

And cue all the gags about hindsight being 20/20.

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Presenting The Amazing Flying Guiseppe

No ferrets were harmed in the making of this blog.

Not even ones that seem to believe that they are impervious to gravity.

Give it time.

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Playing Golf In The Real World

I have in front of me the box for Real World Golf on the PS2.

For those of you who are not familiar with this particular game, this is a console golf game that you can play with a mini golf club, instead of with a traditional controller.

It's especially impressive since – as stated on the game box – it's

"the revolutionary golf game where you swing a club to hit the ball."

What an incredible idea. Revolutionary indeed!

It's amazing, really, that conventional golf is apparently not played that way.

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Solutions To Problems

I've recently found myself behind a van advertising Door Solutions.

What a brilliant idea!

The next time I find myself frustratingly bouncing off solid walls whilst attempting to move from room to room, I'll know who to call.

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And Not A Bad Child Actor In Sight

I don't know if it's just a strange effect of the lurgy, but I keep getting cravings for Kinder Surprises – well, not actually Kinder Surprises themselves, but that particular creamy sort of Kinder chocolate.

Frankly, I could do without the Surprise part, as I now have a mounting collection of crappy little plastic toys.

Although I do have one good one, which I'm quite smug about.

It's a little bulgy-eyed guy in a turban meditating on a magic carpet which, through the skillful use of magnets, levitates.

Admittedly, he does boff his head against the top of his little plastic case every time he levitates – which can't do much for his meditation.

But I don't care about that because he can levitate.

And that makes me chuckle, which is all that matters.

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Things I've Learned From… Ghost Stories [Part 1]

1. Dental Hygiene:

Nice old people often have teeth missing.

Evil people have foul breath.

Analysis:

• Good people always have good dental hygiene. Missing teeth are endearing. They come about purely as a result of fair-wear-and-tear and do not stem from a lack of hygiene.
• Bad people revel in eating smelly foods and mistreating their teeth. If they have any missing, it is for these reasons.

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2. Baldness:

Old men who are friends of the novel's hero(s) are usually bald.

Villainous men always have lank, greasy and dandruff-ridden hair.

Analysis:

• Only those who are pure of heart must suffer the torment that is Male Pattern Baldness.
• Bad people will use their ample – yet infuriatingly unkempt – hair as just another thing with which to torment you.

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3. Ghost Detecting - Weather:

If a house is haunted, a swing will always move, even when there is no wind.

Analysis:

• Why spend money on an expensive ghost detecting kit? Simply construct an outdoor play area and wait for a nice day.

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4. Witnessing Paranormal Activity:

For anything supernatural to happen in a place, at least one person who does not believe in ghosts must be present.

Analysis:

• Go into that murder house, expect a barrage of bad stuff and later leave disappointingly unharmed.

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5. Children:

Children are not afraid of ghosts that talk to them.

Analysis:

• It doesn't matter how scary you are, or how long you've been dead – striking up conversations with small children is a fantastic way to rekindle your social life.

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A prize goes to anyone who can actually name the book I'm currently reading.

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Lurgyfied

Naturally, I finally succumbed to the lurgy.

I'm not actually half as ill as He was when he had it last week, as it's decided to only attack my chest; my sinuses are fine, but I've got the nastiest cough I think I've ever had. It's making it really hard to sleep.

Not that I expect you to care. The sound of me coughing, spluttering and then swearing extensively under my breath isn't keeping you awake at night.

Unless you're stalking me, and lurking outside my bedroom window in the dark. In which case, you'd be better off staying awake lest you wake up in somebody else's garden or with a canoe on your head.

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Noodles Away!

It's back!

Yes, today saw the triumphant return of Super Noodles Saturday. And there was me nearly posting an R.I.P. blog for it last week.

I really should have more faith in snack foods.

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Why… Won't… You… Dye!

I'm somewhat disturbed that Andie MacDowell's new hair dye even covers those "short wiry" hairs.

I thought that most hair dyes came with instructions that warn against using them for that.

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Stupid Girl

I have just spend a straight five minutes in the kitchen, trying to open a bin bag.

I tried all the usual tricks: blowing on it, rubbing my hands together either side of it, trying to prise my fingernails into the tiny gap – to name but a few.

I almost had it. Almost.

In my desperate and mounting frustration, I eventually asked for help – not something I'd usually do in this sort of situation, but I was so wound up I was about to go into complete and utter meltdown.

Without a word of a lie, the bin bag was then duly inspected, turned upside-down, and opened easily.

I now ask that the rules to be changed so that everyone can do one bloody stupid thing a day without having to be technically labelled an idiot.

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Poetry Time [No. 3]

My Life As A Virgin Media Customer

So,
Bye bye, Sky channels.

Sometimes,
We used to watch you.

Admittedly,
Mostly for The Simpsons.

Although,
We always seemed to be watching repeats.

Specifically,
That bloody Jazz Man episode.

And
The one with the crazy golf competition.

And
The one where Bart runs away.

And
That one with Sideshow Bob.

And
That other one with Sideshow Bob.

And
Another one with Sideshow Bob. But,

Strangely,
Never the one with his brother

Which,
Ironically, I'd actually like to see again.

More of the same, only worse

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Trouble Comes In Twenty-Sevens

The alarm didn't go off this morning.

I don't know why.

Then my card was declined at the petrol station.

It turns out that a cheque I wrote out three weeks ago has only just hit me and has now taken me into the red.

Now, Biscuits has bitten my nose. For the umpteenth time.

They say that trouble comes in threes. I hope that they're right, whoever they are.

Actually, now that I think about it, there was a mahoosive spider in the bedroom earlier… Does that mean I've just had the first of another three troubles? Or does it mean I've got to have three lots of three misfortunes today?

And if, instead, I just decide to blindly hope that trouble actually comes in fours – and that I've therefore now had my lot for the day – would I just be setting us all up for an additional, impromptu problem the next time any of us is scheduled to have (what should be) three?

It pays to be prepared for these things, you know.

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Rough Night + Long Day = Out Of It

I was followed by a gonk today.

I was driving home and a Fiesta came up behind me; and all that I could see of the driver was the top of a head, a pair of eyes, a nose, and some fingers poking over the steering wheel.

I'd never really imagined gonks driving cars, but now I've seen it with my own eyes.

I don't mean to stereotype – I do understand that gonks are widely diverse creatures – but I'd like to think that instead of using the horn, she could just honk her nose.

In fact, I wouldn't mind being able to do that myself. It might come in handy the next time I'm out shopping and the person in front of me just stops for no reason.

---

Yes, sorry: I've gone a bit crazy today. I didn't get much sleep last night and some of my marbles took the opportunity to go on a little vacation.

I am aware of it, but sadly admitting that I've got a problem does not actually empower me at all. It just doesn't seem to work like that.

I guess we've all just got to wait it out. Sorry.

A loud hair-dryer-sounding motorcycle drove past the house a little earlier, and I found myself commenting aloud that it sounded like a felt-tip pen.

I also apparently think it would be useful if I could honk my nose really loudly.

I'm sure that I speak for everybody when I say that I hope that I get some sleep tonight.

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Retraction: Most Haunted

So, we actually found ourselves watching Most Haunted Live last night, and I feel the need to make a retraction: Yvette Fielding was utterly fearless the entire time.

And, what's more, nothing touched her hair.

The historian's a bit dodgy, though.

Personally, I would have thought that the idea of researching a name that the investigators have given you was quite a simple one, but apparently it's quite a complicated process.

Apparently what you really have to do is change the initial letter, add a couple of syllables – in fact, come up with a name that is completely different in every single way, but that features in the research that you've already done on the place – and then offer that back to them preceded with the line "well, that sounds a bit like…" or "what I think you meant was…" and then follow it up with: "and, since that's the *family name / nickname / job title / second cousin* of the *owner / designer / gardener / dog-walker* of the *house / castle / cattle shed / military bunker*, then it's hardly a surprise that it's come up – ha ha ha! – aren't I an incredibly smug historian?".

I'd give you a precise example, but I absolutely cannot be bothered.

Feel free to just take my word for it.

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Nothing To See Here

Move along.

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Careless Crisper

I've been reminded of an important point by the label on one of our tea towels. I have been reminded – and not in any vague or abstract manner – that carelessness causes fire.

Well, that's put me right back in my place. No more throwing wet cutlery around for me. I'd hate to accidentally stab somebody in the eye with a flying fork or knife and have a fire break out.

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Wiiings, My Arse

Not that I ever really hold out much hope for Red Bull adverts, but what sort of crappy superhero would actually put empty cans back into the fridge anyway?

You'd never catch Bananaman pulling an idiotic stunt like that.

EDIT: Mind you, with all that potassium in his system, he's probably got no need for energy drinks.

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I Think My Days Are Numbered

He's brought the lurgy into the house.

I reckon that this gives me no more than about four days before I'm in the throes of it too.

I can't wait.

Oh, no—

Sorry—

I can wait.

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You For Coffee

We were in the local supermarket tonight, buying some coffee, and a boy of about nine came up beside us, studied the ground coffee, and exclaimed "Yes! Yes! Yes!" very excitedly.

Typically, there turned out to be a really boring and uninteresting reason for this; but it was amusing for a while.

---

Quiet day, today. Sorry.

I can't make stupid stuff happen.

Well, obviously, that's not entirely true – I make stupid stuff happen all the time. This is part of my charm.

But that doesn't mean that the stupid stuff I make happen is stuff I'd necessarily want to share; so, for the purposes of this blog, today was a quiet day where nothing stupid happened at all.

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Everything's Wrong In The World

I've run out of Tic Tacs.

I so cannot be doing with that.

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Paul Anka Blinded My Boyfriend!

Believe it or not, there is such a thing as being too orange.

At least, though, nobody will ever forget your face – it's not really possible when your image has been burned onto their retinas.

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"Yes, I'm Getting Flavours Of Burnt Cucumber And Octopus, And Just A Hint Of Tyre Fire…"

We went to a wine tasting this evening. It was very silly.

I never actually worked out quite what we were supposed to do with it, but we were given a big list of descriptions to – I can really only assume – help us report back on each wine (which a representative from each table had to do). It included things like cat's pee, wet cardboard, dry cardboard, petrol, mould and pencil shavings.

Now, I wouldn't have the first idea what most of those smell like – and I certainly have no idea whatsoever what any of them taste like – so, I'm still a little confused about what was going on.

And, ironically, I thought that one of the wines smelt like Harpic and tasted like soap, whilst another one tasted like Germalene – and none of those delights of the senses were on my all-knowing wonderlist of comparisons.

Jilly Goolden, watch out – there's a new kid in town.

Or possibly not.

Wine gives me migraine, anyway.

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A Fruit AND A Nut?

Now, I can see why food companies might think it a good idea to market their healthier foods by drawing attention to the benefits of a better diet, but I do question somebody's decision to plaster a huge You Are What You Eat slogan across a packet of Fruit and Nut Mix.

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Tip Of The Day: Irritating Rattling In Your Car

Yes, it seems that I really do learn something new every day.

Having a half-empty '100' pack of Tic Tacs in your hatchback is – for the ears, at least – almost exactly the car equivalent of clipping those little rattly plastic things that used to come free in boxes of Frosties onto the spokes of your BMX.

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Tip Of The Day: Rubber Thingamabobs

Avoid unnecessarily flinging your grippy rubber finger oojamaflips down toilet bowls by using a smaller size – one that actually fits on your finger and doesn't turn into a bouncy and unpredictable projectile when you gesticulate.

(Yes, today I made a discovery.)

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"I Can Now Control The Speed And Direction Of The Rotating Diner Via These Mounted Binoculars!"

I cannot believe that Sam and Max Hit the Road has sat unplayed in my PC games collection for so many years.

Whatever was I thinking?

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Most Haunted?

That Most Haunted came on the unattended television set last night. It's not that I'm in the habit of leaving the television switched on to just run and run, by the way, it's just that something else that we had been watching had ended, and we were still in the process of switching it off.

Anyway, so Most Haunted came on, and it got me thinking: how many series of that show have there been now? And how many episodes have there been per series?

Right, now I've just done a quick cursory glance of the accompanying website, and there's mention on there of a Series 8 with a list of fourteen locations. So, let's take fourteen to be an approximate average. In that case, over a period of eight series, that would come to a total of 112 locations to date.

And the program still seems to be going strong.

So, at what point are these places going to cease to actually be the most haunted, and just be somewhat haunted, or vaguely haunted, or "well, I went in there once, and I swear that when I came out my shoes were on the wrong feet" probably-not-even-remotely-haunted?

Technically, I suppose, the title could be short for The Top 100,000 Most Haunted Places, but I doubt the producers would want to tie themselves down to so few episodes.

Not that I am knocking Most Haunted in any way, shape or form. I have no quarrel with the program at all; even though, from the few occasions that I have actually seen parts of it, it could just as effectively be called Yvette Fielding Gets Scared At Stuff Nobody Else Can See, In a Different Location Each Week.

When I was a kid, Yvette Fielding presented Blue Peter. And, frankly it amazes me that the same woman who could create such horrific pancakes could be frightened of anything.

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Well, On The Plus Side…

… we've just saved ourselves about £5 in taxi fairs.

Admittedly, we had to trudge through heavy rain, up about half a mile of bypass – with no pavement, and whilst having to step up into the sopping marshland by the roadside every time a car came (which was alarmingly frequently – and then along a further half mile or so home.

I am absolutely bedraggled. My trousers are soaked as far up the leg at the back as my knees, and covered in mud. My shoes are soaked. My socks are – randomly – also sopping wet. My hair is dripping down my back.

But, it's all good because we saved a fiver.

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Rubber Thingies: A Confession

I'd been using one of those little rubber finger thingies this afternoon. You know: the things that you wear so that you can rifle through papers easier.

I went to use the toilet, and I realised that I'd forgotten to take the cursed thing off.

To be honest, I figured that I'd probably get away with leaving it right where it was; but, it seems I was mistaken: just as I was about done, I heard an unnerving ping. I looked down, and a dark shadow – somehow – beneath the used toilet paper confirmed my worst suspicion.

What are the odds of that? I bet I couldn't ping a rubber thingy off my finger and directly into a toilet bowl behind me on purpose. I can't even figure out how it managed to get in there at all, let alone how it ended up under the paper. Technically, an entire me was stood right in its way. And that was before it had to contend with the ample two-ply defence lying in ambush inside the toilet.

Naturally, I responded the only way I knew how. I flushed. Rubber thingy and all.

So, if anybody's plumbing goes all screwy today, and it turns out that the cause is a little knobbly bit of rubber that has jammed up a pipe, then I assure you that I know nothing about it whatsoever.

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Carnosaur 2. Oh, Yes.

I've just found a great-sounding film starting on the telly.

The blurb?

"A repair team races against time to control radiation leaks while simultaneously avoiding a horde of dinosaurs."

Fantastic.

This sounds like it could be almost as good as The Sound of Horror.

Do not think for one moment, however, that I am going to sit and watch it, then report back later – I'm still feeling the sting of Snakes on a Train and I think I've reached my bad movie quota for a good few weeks.

And, also, do not be deluded into thinking that I've got something more to say on the matter, because I'm really feeling quite terse today; as I shall demonstrate in more detail imminently.

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Top Trucks

I passed a truck this morning that had, written across its front, just above the windscreen:

Truck Of The Year 2002

Now, this has got me thinking: does this accolade apply to all trucks of this make and model? Or, five years ago, did this particular truck do something above and beyond the call of middleweight vehicular duty?

Perhaps it was used to hoist out some children who were stuck down a well, or maybe it was an effective and usefully mobile weapon in the fight against organised crime? Could it be that its roomy interior enabled a dangerous beast to be apprehended without anybody being harmed in the process, or that its comfortable front seats and ample leg-room let somebody stretch out and relax enough to receive the inspiration to invent some devastatingly useful and life-changing piece of technology?

One that wasn't onboard computers in toothbrushes, that is.

Admittedly, without my having actually seen inside this wonder of modern road travel, most of this is pure speculation; but I'd like to think that I'm on to something here.

Alternatively, of course, there's also the option that it was lovingly cleaned and polished up before being paraded around an arena in front of lots of people, with somebody in jodhpurs and a riding cap engaging in some kind of silly standing-up-and-sitting-down fannying-around behaviour on its roof.

This is also a satisfying image.

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So Why Can't All The Good Things In Life Come Without Downsides …?

Like television adverts without the desperately smug and irritating actors?

Or sugar-free soft drinks without the carcinogens?

Just a thought.

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Bloody Silly Woman

"When I need to rummage around and find something in my handbag, what I like to do is stand right in front of important doorways, so that nobody can get through."

Okay, so perhaps that wasn't quite what she was thinking this afternoon, but I'm sure I'm pretty close.

Possibly she was also thinking that doing all of this whilst wearing a bizarre pink trouser suit would somehow enable her to do this with a little more finesse.

---

You know, I spent over six hours on the road over the weekend during my little excursion to Liverpool, and I swear that nobody tailgated me until the final stretch of the M1 on my journey home.

Technically, there was some woman in a white hatchback who was right up my arse on the M6, whilst chatting on her mobile, but, even then, I was over halfway home by that time.

Can it be that people are better drivers the further north you go?

Perhaps I should move. It might do my blood pressure some good.

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Adventures Up The M6

I'm off adventuring today. I'm going to Liverpool.

I've never been there before.

I've already got my directions sorted out, but I've got the horrible dilemma of should I pay £4 to use the toll road, or risk alleged roadworks?

Not dreadfully interesting, I'll grant you. But it's what I'm thinking about this morning, so "ner ner ner-ner ner".

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It Will Destroy Tokyo!

Biscuits is in an exceptionally bad mood tonight.

No one is safe.

"Hnuuuung!" says Biscuits, in a very overused photograph.

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Cutest Punk Bands Ever!

I'm in love.

With these:

and these:

Outrageously cute.

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I Know What You're Thinking

And the answer is yes: mild curry flavour.

Not that I see the point of curry coming in anything other than melt your face flavour. But, then again, my ability to eat spicy food does frighten most of the people that I meet. I'm probably lucky that I haven't yet been kidnapped by a travelling circus and put in the freak show.

Mind you, those of us that haven't been kidnapped by a travelling circus for any reason whatsoever are all very lucky.

Anyway, getting back to what's important here, mild curry was the only flavour in the cupboard. It seems that I was wrong yesterday when I stated that we'd bought some more.

Note to self: stock up on Super Noodles before the offer ends.

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Thought For The Day

For those of you that this applies to, think about how you've never been kidnapped by a travelling circus, and think yourselves very, very lucky indeed.

For those of you who have been kidnapped by a travelling circus, think about ways to escape whilst maiming as many of the bastards as possible in the process.

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Slow News Day

I'm just pondering whether or not tomorrow will be yet another Super Noodles Saturday.

I confess, they are still on offer in the supermarket. And we have purchased more.

It really could happen. Only time will tell.

More on this exciting story as it breaks.

---

There isn't much by way of news today, as you can probably tell.

The car park's been working fine all week. I haven't had to sit anywhere – stationary and with my hazard lights on – looking like a twit whilst waiting for my knight in grubby fluorescent vest to come to my aid and release me from almost certain multi-storey peril.

Biscuits the grumpy ferret hasn't tried to eat me at all yet. (To be fair, he's still sleeping, though (dreaming grumpy dreams, I expect).)

The whole Fun With Busted Canoes part of my life seems to be disappointingly over. Technically, I could go and get it back as it's only by the side of the road, just around the corner. But that seems far too much like hard work – it's dead to me now.

And in a shocking break from the norm, I've nothing on my mind that I feel like ranting about right this minute.

---

Actually, my CD/DVD drive is on the blink. I suppose that's some kind of news, albeit a rubbishy kind.

I tried to import a CD into iTunes this week, with disastrous consequences. It was like the aural equivalent of taking a £100 camcorder into the cinema and trying to film The Last King of Scotland.

Me being the cunning and tenacious sod that I am, I managed to find a workaround, however.
The things I do to for quality in-car entertainment.

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Somebody Stole The Canoe!

I suppose that I shouldn't really be surprised that the canoe wasn't going to hang around forever, but it's still a little disturbing that it has actually been stolen.

And there was me and my friends wanting to stage it on a nice busy roundabout somewhere, with a stuffed hooded top hanging out of it – like somebody had fallen out of the sky and crashed nose first into the grass.

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Snow!

Yay!

My car was covered in it this morning.

If it snows again, I might finally get a chance to make those A-Team snowmen I've been talking about all these years.

The A-Team snowmen that I will build one day. Oh, yes.

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Previous / Next

Found Out

It's happened at last.

The car behind me this morning finally figured out that the magic button to make the slow car at the front of the queue go faster is hidden in the back of mine.

If he'd been an inch closer, he'd have been able to reach out and press it.

With his nose.

Unfortunately, it would appear that he also passed this knowledge on to the van that was behind me this afternoon.

The bugger.

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Under Attack

Biscuits seems to have got a slight case of the munchies tonight.

He's particularly interested in fingers, faces, arms and kneecaps.

The mighty Biscuitsaurus Rex. Hear his grumpy and indignant roar of annoyance: "Hurrumph!"

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Crappy Movies

It would seem that today we have found a new member for the utter tripe section of our DVD collection.

It isn't that we like buying bad films, you must understand, it's just that the combination of impossibly funny, cheesy and/or crap front covers and a desperately small price tag makes it somehow seem acceptable to buy indiscriminately.

To be honest, we've been quite lucky about this historically. I can honestly say that we have only two utterly and despicably awful DVDs in our possession.

Until tonight, that is.

Oh, yes. We now have an impressive third.

As things stood earlier today, the scourge of our DVD collection consisted only of the truly abysmal Python (starring Robert Englund and Casper Van Dien) and the frankly criminal The House of the Dead. The latter scoring highly in the being-particularly-disappointing film stakes for bearing no resemblance whatsoever to the video game of the same name, and its complete lack of the actual house.

Technically, that left us with a 50-50 giant snake/zombie split in the old appalling film stakes. Tonight's debacle, however, has swung that round to a 67-33 in favour of the giant snakes.

Yes, it was Snakes on a Train.

Note the mode of transport for these particular snakes. Not on a plane, like in another recent movie, but on a train. Oh, yes. Very clever what the writers did there.

I'd like to point out at this juncture, that I only parted with £2.97 for this marvel of the televisual arts. I stand by my decision. It was worth it.

It was worth it for the spectacularly bad ending. And the pain we'll be able to inflict on visiting friends.

Commuting reptiles: bloody atrocious.

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Further Unpleasantness

It isn't actually a case of Saturdays being Super Noodles Days, it just seems to have worked out that the last two Saturdays have been ripe with Super-Noodly goodness.

Rest assured, however, this is only because they were on offer in the supermarket. The madness ends here.

Well, actually, the madness will end once the remaining two packets have been used.

Unless, of course, they're still on offer next time we go shopping; in which case, the madness will probably begin again, same time next week.

So, actually, it's looking like Saturdays very much could be Super Noodles Days after all.

---

There's been further nastiness today.

If I was asked to rate it on some sort of unholy Scale of Horribleness, I would probably have to say that this would score even higher than standing barefoot in horrible mouldy ick. Like I did yesterday.

Today's nastiness involved our Vax.

It was by no means the Vax's fault. Events just conspired against us all.

The details are not really important, but let's just say that today I discovered that the combination of decomposing cabbage, and the sorts of things that come out of a ferret's bottom is a wholly unpleasant one.

I am in no way suggesting that either of those things cannot be quite unpleasant on their own, but – believe me – mix the two of them together and you'll find yourself with something much more potent and foul and utterly disgusting than the sum of its parts.

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Silly Day

It didn't start all that well, to be honest.

I needed to iron something this morning, so I had to move the dustbin-bag-slash-makeshift-kitchen-bin that was blocking the cupboard in which the iron and the ironing board live Unfortunately, I had nothing on my feet, and I duly discovered – the unpleasant way – that some sort of wet and nasty rotten ick had decided to ooze out of the bottom of the bin bag.
I'd only just gotten out of the shower. I went straight back in it again.

Actually, in retrospect, I'm quite grateful that I hadn't put any socks on yet; but, amazingly, this did not occur to me at the time.

You know, I really, really feel the need to wash my feet again.

---

I got stuck in the multi-storey car park today as well. I've actually got a season ticket thingy, which is supposed to let me in and out again without my having to use the normal ticket machines, but this afternoon it chose not to work.

Instead, I had the privilege of sitting in my car at the card slot with my hazard lights on, waiting for the car park man to walk down and help me, whilst looking like one of those numpties who don't realise that you're supposed to pay on foot before you get back in your car.

I felt so proud.

Fortunately, there are two card slots on the exit, so I didn't hold anyone up. There's only one on the entrance, though, so I hope it doesn't all go pear-shaped the next time I try to park in there.

---

And now, just to add insult to injury, my laptop keeps shutting down whilst I'm trying to import some video I took a few months ago.

I admit that my wonderful holiday scenes of Extreme Duck, Defecating Otters, Gurning Boyfriend and The House that Will One Day Be Mine are not the most important pieces of video history that I will ever make, but I'd still like to be able to make some use of them.

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Other Drivers: Another Rant

Why is it that people seem to think that the closer they get to you whilst you're all stationery in traffic, the quicker they'll get to where they're going?

It's as if they seem to think that all those inches will add up and somehow magically shave five minutes off their journey time.

The worst example by far, though, is when you're on a steep incline. Now, even if I didn't have an automatic gearbox in my current car, I am confident about my hill starts; but I certainly don't expect everybody else to be. I've seen people unable to do simple turning manoeuvres without mounting the curb, and people backing into parked cars without even realising they've done it. I've seen people steering jaggedly round roundabouts in the wrong lane and with one hand holding a mobile phone to their ear. (I've seen van drivers park across my drive.) And I've seen men using electric razors whilst driving to work.

But what idiot could possibly think that squeezing right up somebody's arse on a 1 in 14 road is a good idea?

A staggeringly large number, it seems.

As ever, I despair am hopelessly optimistic about all of this.

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I Had A Dream

Quite a disturbing dream, actually. I dreamt that the whole time we had been looking after our two ferrets, we'd actually had a third (called Sneezes) that we'd forgotten about.

That part might not actually sound all that disturbing in the grand scheme of things, but there was quite a nasty part to the dream that I'm not going to go into.

Let's just say that it's lucky for Sneezes that he doesn't exist really.

---

And so much for me letting Biscuits win at Tug of War the other night. He practically ate part of my foot last night, the little bugger.

It seems I just can't win: when I exercise, they like the smell of my feet and want to bite them; and when I've just showered, they like the smell of shower gel on my feet and want to bite them.

Whatever I do, I end up being nibbled. Apparently it's a great game, although I always seem to be the one who loses.

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Previous / Next

Arse!

I'm sure that I had something really, really good to say today, but I can't bloody remember what it was.

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I had a great game of Tug of War with Biscuits last night. He won, of course: such is the nature of playing competitive games with opponents who are likely to bite your nose if they lose.

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Psychic Time-Telling

I had to go up the town at lunchtime.

As I was heading back, a guy was walking alongside me, looking a bit shifty. I say shifty because he kept turning and looking at me, then quickly looking away again whenever I looked back. I got the distinct feeling that he was going to say something to me (or possibly aloud to himself about me – I've had that happen in town before). Now, I confess I am usually suspicious of all other people in general; but since the now infamous "nice pair" incident with the creepy old guy one quiet and secluded afternoon a couple of months ago, I figure it's always good to be prepared.

Anyway, this guy was walking beside me, and he turned again as if he was going to speak, but this time he looked beyond me, at the small supermarket we had just passed. He then stopped walking and turned back, as if he'd decided to go in there as an afterthought.

I carried on walking but then, about ten steps later, I found him alongside me again. By this time, I was sure he was plotting something. And, sure enough, he was: he asked me the time.

It just so happens that I had checked the clock on my phone about five minutes previous to this, so, deciding not take my eyes off him (and not to reveal my mobile phone), I simply added five minutes to the time I had seen then, and told him this. Et voilà!

It occurred to me afterwards that it must have looked as if I'd just psychically known the time. In fact, he probably went away thinking that I was the weird one.

I wish I could psychically tell the time. That would be bloody handy.

I admit that I can't think of any great examples right now of just how handy that would be exactly, but don't let my temporary lack of imagination convince you that it wouldn't be really, really good.

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WD40 Salesman Joke

A WD40 salesman walks into Stevenage Cineworld and says, "Hello, I'm a WD40 salesman. Have you ever considered the benefits of buying WD40?"

And the staff at Cineworld say, "Gosh, no, we haven't."

And the punchline?

Well, actually there isn't one. It isn't even a real joke. I just bloody wish a WD40 salesman really would walk into Stevenage Cineworld and teach them all about the benefits of using WD40. I'm sick of all the toilet doors squeaking so painfully that they almost make my ears bleed.

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Yes, I've been to the cinema today. We went to see The Last King of Scotland. A good movie, all told.

The film was quite grainy, and particularly seventies-looking. Personally, I'm utterly convinced that this is how the film is meant to look, and it is not simply the result of there being anything unpleasant afoot in the cinema projection rooms. Naturally, of course, one lady still felt the need to go off afterwards and complain to the staff about it.

There always has to be one, doesn't there?

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S'Noodles!

I realised today that the thing that makes Super Noodles so super is the fact that they do not contain peas.

Unless you buy the potted version (I forget what they're called).

But I don't buy those because they have peas in them, so that's never really come up as a problem.

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Bloody Van Drivers: A Rant

As I was driving home tonight, doing the usual slalom between the parked cars and dodging the other traffic, a large van in front of me did something I wasn't expecting.

We were both sat behind a parked car, waiting for the oncoming one to get out of our way. The van had his right indicator on, as well he might in that situation.

But, when the road ahead had cleared, instead of pulling out and overtaking the parked car – as I had been expecting – he pulled over to the right, and used the entrance to a bungalow's driveway as a lay by.

Now, I could tell that this was a bit naughty for three reasons:

• Firstly, by parking the way he had, he had positioned himself at a right-angle to the driveway itself. This odd perching behaviour said to me that he had no actual business at these premises.
  
  
• Secondly, it was a large drive and, by parking in this frankly bizarre manner, he was unnecessarily blocking access to it. This seemed a little strange and a bit stupid in itself. And also indicative of somebody who knew they should not have been there.
  
  
• Lastly (and this is the worse bit), it was my fucking drive!

And did I mention the bit about me being on my way home?

The bit that really got me peeved was when I sounded my horn and he just scuttled forward a few inches as if he thought that I was struggling to pass him. So, not did he show himself to be an inconsiderate arse, he also went on to impress me further by making the immediate assumption that I was some sort of rubbish girly-girl driver who couldn't squeeze her ickle car through an enormous gap.

I stayed put and beeped again. He sodded off eventually.

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Tip Of The Day: Raffle Tickets

Take several raffle ticket books – one in each of the main colours – with you to functions and events, and scoop up any unclaimed raffle prizes.

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Positive Thinking Pledge

Today I have decided that, from this day forwards, I shall try to always be hopelessly optimistic about things.

I'm sure that this new hopeless optimism will serve me well.

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'Ball Of Foil': Myth Or Reality?

It would seem today that there is now considerable doubt not only as to the presence of a piece of scrunched-up foil somewhere inside the delicate inner workings of Hiccups the ferret, but also with regard to its existence in general.

Nobody can really be certain that it was ever actually there in the first place.

Perhaps the whole event was imagined.

Who can say? Apparently no-one.

But, for now at least, Poo Watch is scheduled to continue as usual.

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Meanwhile, Biscuits (also The Ferret) last night appeared dissatisfied with the comparatively small amount of concern regarding his inner workings and decided to express his disdain with a bold attempt at eating the plug for my computer. Out of the wall. Whilst I was using it.

I'm pleased to report, however, that he was apprehended in the act, his ingenious plan was thwarted, and there were no resulting consequences, hilarious or otherwise.

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Reconstruction: The infamous 'ball of foil' – fact or fiction?

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Did He Or Didn't He?

So, the big question today:

Hiccups the ferret – did he, or did he not, eat a scrunched up piece of foil last night?

I gave him an enormous dollop of hairball laxative right before putting him to bed, and some of it seems to have worked itself through. He's not up to speed with his brother, though.

Now, is that just because he's smaller? Is it because he eats less in general? Or is it because he's eaten a rolled up piece of foil that may or may not have been on the coffee table last night?

The foil isn't there now. But is that because it's been eaten by an inquisitive ferret, or because it was never there in the first place?

Who knows?

All I do know is that much of today is going involve one or both or us poking through sloppy ferret poo with a stick.

We should really be less careless in future. I'd hate for a fire to break out.

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Potatoes

Don't ask me why or how, but today there are potatoes in the toaster.

Now I've heard many tales through the years about strange things happening in the night – things like brownies doing housework and elves cobbling shoes.

How come all I get is the Tuber Fairy and something that steals my socks?

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Castle (Mis)Adventure

Over an hour in the car to find a castle that we'd seen on t'Internet, to find out that there's no public admittance.

Private, eh? That's a great idea.

I've decided that one day I too shall have my own castle. With a drawbridge, portcullis and everything. And a pirhana-filled moat…

Although, I bet that nasty man from Everest will still turn up and try to sell us double glazing.

Anyway, so no castle-viewing today, but the tale does still have a happy end: we stopped at a tiny petrol station and got a dangerously overpriced packet of crisps before coming home again. Rock on!

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Starbert Angered

In a strange kind of way, I'm going to be happy when the Christmas decorations come down tomorrow.

The bottom layer of tinsel is half-hanging off the Christmas tree; a lone bauble sits on the shelf, recently separated from its – now absent – hook; and Starbert looks most unimpressed with it all.

The latest installment has been an over-eager ferret trying to climb the window lights. With 'hilarious' consequences.

At this rate, everything's going to be shielded with perspex next year.

Starbert looks sadly on at the scene of Christmas-themed devastation before him

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Productivity Update

So that's now a grand total of 10 hours spent over the Christmas period, lounging in my dressing gown, eating Quality Street and watching Band of Brothers on DVD.

I wish times like that came more than once a year.

I should probably point out, though, that I didn't actually spend the entire ten hours eating the Quality Street. For a start, that would have made me quite sick; and, secondly, would have required a truckload, which is a very silly quantity for any type of chocolate.

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Huge Food

Today I attempted to eat a burger that was almost as large as my head.

It ended badly.

Actually, it ended with sticky toffee pudding, but that's an even more ridiculous story.

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What A Great Start To The Year

I've woken up (very late) and I've got Chopsticks playing in my head on permanent loop.
I knew I shouldn't have watched the end of Big the other night.

Mind you, if I hadn't stayed up until six o'clock last night/this morning, I might not be so susceptible to rubbish like this.

I blame karaoke.

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