Something rather odd happened last night.
I don't have curtains in my bedroom; I have blinds. Badly fitted blinds, at that.
Well, these badly-fitted blinds were slightly open last night, whilst I was sat in bed working on the computer, and I saw a strange dark shape appear in the corner of the window.
I have no idea what it was, but – if I didn't know any better – I'd say that, whatever it was, it was looking in. Creepy.
Male housemate denies knowledge.
Apparently, my local supermarket loans out "fish kettles".
I feel like I should know what one of those is, since people supposedly feel the need to rent them.
Any offers?
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
One of its questions:
Does it weigh more than a duck?
And I'm supposed to know this am I? What am I meant to do: get the kitchen scales out and go down the river with a butterfly net?
Personally, I took that to be a Monty Python reference, yet when the thing I was thinking of actually was a witch, it didn't manage to guess it.
… For a furniture shop, where a female voiceover talks about how amazed her friends always are about her fashionable furniture. Apparently, she's always up to date with the latest styles and these friends wonder how she can afford it.
Just how frequently is this woman needing to buy new furniture?
What is she doing? Eating it?
It asked me to think of something, so I thought of a hand-held 20 Questions game. I answered the questions as honestly as I could, and it guessed just about everything but the correct answer.
It's probably for the best. I don't really want it to deliberately fire nuclear devices at countries that it knows will retaliate.
… how clean it would get my teeth; I'm not sticking anything with an 'onboard computer' into my mouth.
I told somebody at work today about my new canoe:
"When we were kids, we used to stick canoes on people's cars all the time."
I've got to admit, I would have bet against that.
