From The Bums Of Angels

What is it with men and leaving great piles of loose change around the house?

I realise that men's wallets don't have a compartment for change — because, if they did, they'd be called purses, and that's more ladylike territory — so I understand that coins generally need to be kept in trouser pockets. But I still don't get the attraction with scattering the little buggers to the four winds when you get home.

Somebody told me once that finding coins around the house is a sign that you have been visited by angels.

I'm not sure I agree. I've seen where those coins come from, and I don't think that anything angelic has any business associating with the arse pockets of men's jeans.

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There Isn't Always Room For Jelly

I made a cake this weekend — quite specifically, an ice cream cake. It was huge.

In fact, I was a little suprised to find that it only just fit into the cake tin I'd bought. And yet, I'd chosen a cake tin that was larger than the recipe said I needed. Mysterious.

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Incidentally, it would appear that the trick to not making over-sized ice cream cakes is to recognise if the recipe actually calls for pints; because ice cream manufacturers apparently favour litres.

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Herders Anonymous

Why is it that, whenever I park my car down the empty end of any car park, I can always guarantee that there will be somebody parked right next to me when I return to my car?

I deliberately park away from everybody else so that I can open my doors wide without having to worry about bumping anybody, yet — EVERY SINGLE TIME — I come back to find that I've got to squeeze myself through a two inch gap, even though there are empty spaces for about two miles in all directions.

Now I realise that the part of the car park in which is park my car automatically becomes the cool part, but surely common sense would dictate that — in a virtually empty car park — everybody has lots of lovely, lovely space around them?

Actually, I'm beginning to suspect some kind of herding instinct.

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Experiments In Dining

If my suspicions are correct, then the cement used to build houses is comprised of Red Leicester cheese and flour.

I believe that this is so that potential burglars can't eat their way into your home.

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One Down, One To Go

Well, another pet has died this week, and so — in keeping with tradition — I find myself here once again. I have no jokes to make about it this time, however; it was Biscuits, and I'm actually quite cut up about it.

It seemed like a good idea at the time to bury him in the garden. Admittedly, it seems like less of a good idea in retrospect. But it's too late to worry about it now. Ho hum.

My poor little fella. I will miss you.

Actually, it's a good job I can usually write without a family pet having to die first. Otherwise there would be a lot of unhappy children in my neighbourhood.

Sorry, did I say "a lot"?

I meant "a lot more".

And by "unhappy", I, of course, meant "whiny".

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An Important Milestone Indeed

I am aware that Hasbro — a manufacturer of many fine children's games and toys, in my opinion — have a gimmick involving making simplified versions of some of their classic games, in order (I presume) to make them more accessible for younger children.

The simple clue to the identify of these games, is the addition of the words My and First at the beginning of the title.

Fair enough.

I am left wondering, however, just how much they thought this approach through when they came up with this:

My First Operation: lucky, lucky me.

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Which Came First, The Chicken Or Four-Legged Chicken/Dinosaur Thing?

Any idea what this is?

Kinda like a chicken, but with two many legs. And not nearly enough wings.

It looks great, but I have no clue as to what the model is meant to actually be.

It's like some sort of prehistoric chicken.

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Bad Dream, I Hope

I dreamed last night that a huge spider crawled into bed with me, wanting to snuggle.

I woke up worrying about what had prompted me to dream that.

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Something Fishy

I watched a TV show about monster fish this evening.

I have decided that I would not want to meet a goliath tigerfish up a dark alley.

Unless it was a particularly dry alley and the fish had been there for quite some time.

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Childsplay

According to the sales blurb on websites selling Hedbanz, the game is the 'classic' one of What's On My Head?

Yes, just what, indeed, is on my head?

I'm pretty sure that I am aware of the game they're trying to describe here, but — although, maybe it's just me who thinks this — I do think they could have articulated it in a slightly more specific and somewhat less disturbing manner.

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Poor Sod

According to something I read, somebody in the UK has a heart attack every two minutes.

That's one hell of an unlucky bastard.

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Brutally Honest Advertising?

Am I the only one who finds it deeply disturbing to drive through town and see a sign over a shop that says Family Butcher?

That doesn't strike me as the sort of thing you'd want to advertise.

Unless, I suppose, you're planning the classic double bluff when the police come sniffing around, quizzing you about missing families.

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Incredible

This.

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Second Anniversary Post

An advert has just come on the television for an air-freshener that, apparently, detects movements.

I wish somebody would put one of those in the toilets where I work. There always seem to be plenty of 'movements' in there which would warrant its use.

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Sporadic Post Shocker!

Who knows? This may even be the start of something.

I doubt it, mind.

To be honest, I'm just feeling far too wasted to do anything clever right now, and — since I'm home alone — I thought I'd be a bit pathetic and indulge you all in some more of my irreverent drivel.

Being the nice, generous and generally wonderful person that I am, I have just returned home after putting myself out of my way for a couple of hours and allowing people to practice Swedish massage on me.

This is, obviously, a great thing.

Not so great, however, is the fact that — due to being subjected to three different massages — I am now covered in not only massage oil, but also massage cream and talc as well.

I'm now concerned about letting the house get too warm, for fear I end up the filling in some sort of strange massage media pancake.

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Yeah Yeah

Too busy, sorry. And have been for a fair while now.

I'll be back when I've got more free time than sense again.

In the meantime, might I recommend that you read a book or watch a movie? Or — dare I say it — try getting out more? I understand there they have such wonderful things as grass and squirrels and caribou in the great outdoors. Why not go and see what sorts of exciting adventures they're having?

And — who knows — if you take some Post-it* notes, you could even post a comment or two.

* Other brands of re-positional notes are available.

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Gah!

There are men outside destroying the road.

I wouldn't mind so much if either:

a) the men were something special to look at

or

b) I could get my car out of the drive

but, sadly, I am both housebound today and without any eye-candy.

Woe is me.

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Shhh!

I did something top secret today. I'd tell you what it was, but – obviously – I can't because it's top secret, and it would be a pretty crappy secret if I went around telling everybody what it was in some sort of willy-nilly fashion.

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I also got to meet my friends' non-Antichrist baby today.

I am, apparently, comfortable to sleep on. Either that, or I am incredibly boring.

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Tosh

I've got very little to say for myself today other than that I've recently been spending the arse-end of my evenings on YouTube and am currently particularly amused by the Dead Ringers take on Torchwood.

I'm glad I'm not the only one who thought those things about the Doctor Who spin-off.

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And About Time Too

*performs celebratory I Have Joined Another Gym dance*

Mind you, it's going to have to be a bloody good gym to make up for the horror and indignity of the passport photo I had to provide for my membership card. I look like something out of Prisoner: Cell Block H.

And, no, my photo will not be posted on this blog and is not available upon request – so, don't even try it.

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