A special hello

To Herge!

Here's to you, Herge

I want to take this opportunity to pay homage to our beloved Herge, the great mind behind the wonderful Angry Chimp - a blog that has brought wonder and entertainment to thousands in the short time since its introduction back in February of this year.

As a novice blogger, I used to go cruising by clicking the "next" button from my own blog. After the usual "Mortgage lenders, California", "Rambling, ranting musings of an insignificant history student", "Viva Belloc", etc, I came across a post entitled Thoughts whilst queuing in McDonald's. It was a lengthy piece, but it captured my attention and drew me in. I bloggered it from here and I've been going back ever since.

The Angry Chimp theme has evolved quite a bit in a relatively short space of time, but each incarnation has been innovative and funny and thought-provoking. From the reality TV series such as Death Row Big Brother and Celebrity Euthanasia Challenge, to obituaries of the rich and famous, The Guardian's "We love each other", and now the latest cartoon-phase that includes Dalek & Borg, Star Wars and Strangeways, Angry Chimp has continued to keep its audience engrossed.

I just want to say well done and thanks to Herge. I hope he gets the recognition that he deserves. And I hope he's copyrighted the content of Angry Chimp!

Pimp my invalid carriage

Mobility scooters are ideal for people who have difficulty getting around because of disability or incapacity. In the past, many elderly or infirm people were forced to stay in the home because access to transport and shops was simply impossible for them. Older and disabled people were reliant on others to get ootanaboot, so these motorised mobility scooters are excellent for giving people back their independence. Hrrm, must remember to upload the photos to flickr...

They come in a variety of styles and there are 4 or 8mph models. This "luxury" model has a leather seat:

You can get all sorts of accessories for them, including cup holders, but I thought these were particularly good for the English climate:



And I thought this particular accessory was excellent:

However...

These things are taking over our shopping centres, pavements and roads. And they're not being used by elderly, infirm or disabled people. Oh no, they're the latest excuse for staying on their arses for fat, lazy fuckers who can't be frigged to get on their fucking feet and walk!

You know you can get a special bariatric scooter? "Bariatric" is the new PC term for "fat lazy fucker", and a bariatric scooter is one which is designed to take the weight of people who are seriously overweight (and to give them something to hold their chips and coke in while they eat their pizza).

Worst still, people who drive these things on the roads and pavements are so dangerous. I was pootling along the other day and there was some old guy on my side of the road, driving towards me in one. He was completely oblivious to the fact that he was going the right way for a head-on collision. Why are people allowed out in these things without any training? They fly about shopping centres and on pavements in them, completely ignorant to the fact there are pedestrians around them - these things can have a top speed of 8mph and that'd bloody hurt a lot if it hit you, especially if it had the lawn mower attachment.

And then you get whole gangs of users who congregate and take up the entire width of the shopping centre while they gawk and admire each others' rides.

Don't know what I'm complaining for, I'll be using one soon the way my knee's going.


City of Salford IN-clusive policy for WW-Raw It's a Knockout Smack-Down

Salford City Council are introducing a new scheme to enhance the lives of its shopping precincts' visitors. Each day, rounds of the popular 1970s & 80s challenge show "It's a knockout" will be played out in the shopping centres at Eccles, Swinton, Salford and Walkden. Games will include:

• Pastie payroll, where team members aim savoury pastries at electric scooter baskets and babies' pushchairs as they weave in and out of the pink dustbins and benches. The winner being the one to collect the highest number of pasties without scoffing the lot before the end of the challenge.
• Sausage roll slaughter involves layabouts stuffing as many piping-hot sausage rolls as possible into their mouths, the pockets of their trackie bottoms, under their baseball caps and in the hoods of their hooded tops. In this challenge, the victor is the person who sustains the fewest third degree burns. Again, competitors are not allowed to eat any of these delicious savoury pastry products.
• Prescription panic is the toughest test of all and it would be impossible without the cooperation of trickster pharmacy chain, Boots. People collecting their repeat prescriptions are strapped to a heart and BP monitor, they then have to negotiate some strategically-positioned instore product stands to reach the pharmacy counter at the very back of the shop. When they get there, they're informed that their heart pills are out of stock and wont be available for a week due to over prescribing to asylum seekers in Bolton. Ten winning points go to the team with any surviving competitors.

Council spokeswoman, Peggy Babcock said, "We recognise that the vast majority of people who have no choice but to live IN Salford have pointless existences and we want to make their daily outing to collect their prescriptions and pasties an entertaining one. By asking people to form into teams of single mothers, electric scooter users and general layabouts, we hope that people will come together to support each other, at the same time introducing character building challenges to what would otherwise be a mundane and aimless wander round the shops. Moreover, the Town Hall is just over the road from Swinton Precinct and it'll give us all the opportunity to place bets on the locals while we have a laugh at them. Let's face it, our only other entertainment happens when Corrie or Peter Kay film here."

Puzzling

People love to solve problems; they've been doing this for thousands of years. There are different types of puzzles: based on numbers; based on words or letters; based on spacial awareness; in 2 dimensions or 3. Loads of them.

Never trust a person who does cryptic crosswords
The Guardian Quick Crossword is a daily must for any UK student - even me. However, I really don't understand cryptic crosswords one bit. Check this example out:





Not a fucking clue. There must be something wrong with people who can do cryptic crosswords. They probably belong to some mysterious brotherhood, like the Illuminati or something. Being able to do these things is indicative of a warped mind, perhaps even mental illness. You can bet that most serial killers will have committed their crimes immediately after completing one of these things. I'm sure Hitler and Stalin were aficionados.


Soduko
These number puzzles have got the Guardian and Sunday Times-reading masses rushing for their pens. There are even whole puzzle books devoted to them - a bit like Take a Break only without the top tips and prize money. Apparently, it's all about counting from 1 to 9?

These things are even worse than cryptic crosswords. Completely bloody pointless.

If people are that bored, why don't they just go and have half an hour sorting themselves out?

Too fat for Vesuvius

I used to be really fat. Morbidly obese in fact. I used to weigh about 18st at my heaviest (just over 5 years ago). I was a size 26 on top, about a size 30 on my bottom - UK sizes. I was a big lass. Should I show you a picture? I don't think so. I make enough of a fool of myself here, but that's going way too far.

Anyway, for one reason or another I lost a fair bit of weight and you can see how I am now. I lost a fair bit of weight just through plucking my eyebrows actually.

I was having a conversation with a friend recently, we were talking about the Neapolitan Riviera, Sorrento, Pompeii and all that - I'd visited there in 1994. We got on the subject of Vesuvius and I said, "You can climb all the way to the top, but I couldn't because I was too fat". We joked how my memoires might be called "Too fat for Vesuvius". Ho, ho, ho.

I'm still quite a porker in parts ( I won't get my legs out and it's rare for me to wear a short-sleeved top in public), but I'm OK.


Knee = fucked
Being a bloater leaves its mark and I've got crap joints in my legs. I felt my knee go when I was at the gym the other night and I think I've done something to a ligament. It's not painful, it just feels weak and it's difficult going downstairs.

I bought an "athletic knee support" today and, not knowing what size to get, I plumped for the medium. It's too tight on my still-chunky thigh and it digs in quite a lot.

My knee will be fine, I'll just end up dying of a fucking thrombosis.

Things you shouldn't like, but just can't help yourself - the return

There are some things that are frowned upon by society: kiddie fiddling; cruelty to animals; using your phone while driving; voting Conservative; eating offal. According to some, these things are crimes that should be punishable by death. A little harsh, perhaps, but some folk get very emotional about things. Not your mild-mannered, easy-going, happy-go-lucky, without a care in the world Cakesniffer though. I often turn to the scriptures for guidance and think, What would Jesus say? "Let them without guilt cast the first stone" and all that.

We're all guilty of enjoying things that we really shouldn't; things we'd never come out with when asked the "So, what do you like to do in your spare time?" question in a job interview.

I suppose it's about time this got dragged out and dusted off:

• Squeezing blackheads and spots, particularly other people's, ESPECIALLY greasy men's, is one of those divine things that never ceases to bring great pleasure. They come in all sorts of shapes and sizes; you can measure the satisfaction against many criteria (wiggliness of the blackhead goo, splatter pattern of spot goo, whether the "seed" of the spot is released on the first attempt, number of refills); and it's an activity that can be done alone or shared with friends, lovers, family members. Fantastic! Of course, related to this is "draining the cat's abscess": cats get into fights, they get bitten, bites get infected without you noticiing, big abscess bursts while you're stroking kitty. And my God, do abscesses go on!!! Unfortunately, they also stink to high heaven, so you need a pretty strong stomach for that particular activity. They also have the associated costs of vets' bills for proper cleaning and medication, so the pleasure is lost somewhat by the financial implications.
• Smelly farts. Now, this is a weird one. Why do we like to smell our own farts, yet are sickened by those of others? Odd, isn't it?
• Gooey, post-cold snot. It's great at the end of a bad cold when your sinuses finally start to clear and you get productive snot: that really gooey, yellow/green/bloody stuff that leaves your head clear as it makes its exit. You know it's disgusting, but you just can't resist having a look. Another great nasal pleasure is the post-nosebleed blood clot. If you have a bad nosebleed and have to hold a pack under your nose to absorb the blood, when you remove the pack, there's often a huge blood clot that pulls away with it. You can feel it coming out from your nasal passage and it feels GREAT! After a few minutes, there should be the confidence for a good nose-blow and this often results in excellent bloody goo release too. It's that instant of sudden freedom from the suffocation that had been caused by the clot (or snot): in that second, you sudden come alive again and it's as if your brain can breathe too.
• Gooey, post-chest infection phlegm. Again, you shouldn't look, but you do, don't you? There are different stages of this stuff. When you've been really poorly and it's just coming up, it's sort of dark green, olive-coloured and it really, really hurts. It also smells bloody terrible and you can sort of taste it as you breathe, but you can't do anything about it. Yak.
• Last, but not least: big, massive poos. They're just the best thing in the world and I can't imagine what it must be like to only go every now and again. I love the Bristol Stool Score, and there's a pic of this posted somewhere on the b-log (log!) . Filth, pure filth.

I'd put wanking in here, but it's one of those things that I'm absolutely sure everybody does - nobody feels guilty about it, but nobody really talks about it. Since the title of the post is "Things you shouldn't like, but just can't help yourself", wanking's not really appropriate, but everybody should like it. It is embarrassing when you injure yourself though and you have to explain why you're limping or hold your head in a strange way. I even use the excuse of excessive use of a scroll mouse for stiffness in my index finger.

Going the gym provides a great excuse for all over body stiffness and strange gaits. Strangely enough, I have injured my knee and if feels a bit weak so I'm limping on it. I did it on the treadmill, Your Honour!


PS What's the approval rating on the new pic?

Porn

I've never looked at porn - never watched a bluey, never sought it out on the internet, never in a mag. It might be better to save up some money and pay for sex. I wouldn't know about that sort of thing.

Prawns, on the other hand, I pay for prawns - love 'em!

Pawns. Those weird little things in a chess set. I used to like getting my pawns killed. Well, I didn't, I was just crap at chess and I didn't know what I was doing.


Tits amazing

Seems that porn might be good for you...

Cakesniffer joins Angry Chimp protest against Middle Class Guardian-reading twats!

I had an epiphany at work this afternoon and started a seemingly unprovoked attack against the Guardian and its readership.

What makes me just as sick as sponging dole-scum are the fucking Guardian-reading, middle-class, socialist, plastic working-class, up-their own arse bastard cunts!

I'll tell you my story: I was born the third child to my parents. My dad was an Italian imigrant with not very good English skills, he worked in a poorly-paid job in a factory. Mum was a housewife, but was a nurse by training and she sometimes had a part time job as an occupational health nurse (at the factory where dad worked). They were poor. At times, my mum used to have to look for money down the side of the sofa to afford a loaf of bread or some milk. We lived in rented house until I was about 3, then moved into a Council house. We moved to another Council house in 1977 and we still live here today.

I went to the local state schools where I did OK. The schools were OK, the pupils were a fair mix of pretty poor to not too badly off kids - nobody led a particularly privileged existence. They were the sorts of schools where, if you got your head down, you could do quite well. Most schools around here are like that. I did well, went onto 6th form, where I did very well. I ended up at University where I was fucking ace and came top of my class. Did a PhD. Somehow or other, I ended up back with my folks. I now work in the NHS where I guess I'm a middle manager sort of grade.

So, I get so fucking annoyed with these privilged wankers telling me that I've done exceptionally well for myself considering my background. That it must've been an enormous struggle against hardship. A fight against class attitudes, to break away from the cycle of hopelessness that's experienced by everybody else with my sort of upbringing.

In reality, with certain exceptions, anybody with half a brain who knuckled down could've made the most of the opportunities presented to them at the time that I was groing up. Generally, the only things that prevent people getting on were laziness and stupidity - not what they're parents did for a living or what sort of house they lived in.

Fucking stuck up, ignorant, patronising cunts. They're so blinkered and so far removed from the real world that they live with these assumptions. They pretend to empathise with the working classes, yet they wouldn't be seen dead around here. They claim it's only right and socially fair to have a welfare system, but they never see that the system provides an option of a way of life for some while failing those who really need it. They make assumptions about people's political leanings based on background and upbringing.

They are complete tossers. They read the Guardian, they listen to Radio 4, they listen to Coldplay, Travis and Did, and they sneer at people who don't vote the way they do. They are same sort of people that turn into Bono and Geldof. They need destroying.

Think! Don't phone and drive

Think! Don't drive and drive.

Think! Don't drive tired, take a break at the services that just happen to be a mile away and who'll charge you a fiver for a can of pop.

Think! Don't let somebody wank you off while you're doing 90 in the fast lane (but it's ok if you pull over into hard shoulder).

I'm referring to motorway information signs that we have over here. They can flash up a variety of messages that warn drivers of trouble ahead or, in other circumstances, they'll just given general road safety messages to attack the conscience of the wayward motorist. Unfortunately, they just cause people to slam on the brakes as drivers automatically think that there's been an accident up ahead when they see them flashing from a distance. They're all linked up to a big computer and you can track what each one is saying on the Highways Agency website. I'm not joking - some sad fucker actually thought this was a good idea. I'm sure they'll go far... in the NHS.

Blah..... Anyway, another useless waste of money from The Ministry for Speaking the Blindingly Fucking Obvious.

Certain things are supposed to be absolutely unacceptable whilst driving: drinking is the main one. Over recent years however, the great British public has got itself whipped up into a right old lather over people using mobile phones while driving. I've known of people get so angry at seeing other motorists on the phone that they've lost concentration and crashed their own cars.

Britain really is great.

So, and we finally get to the point of this post, we're either supposed to use a hands-free system of some sort or not use the phone at all while in charge of the car. Fair enough.

My mobile came with a bluetooth earpiece and a little cradle that holds the phone in the car. I was thrilled. However, bluetooth headsets are fucking rubbish. Here is the procedure for using your bluetooth headset for making a call while driving:

1. Get to your car
2. Place phone in cradle, ensuring that bluetooth is activated
3. Retrieve bluetooth earpiece from ashtray of car
4. Press and hold "on" button for 5-10 seconds to turn it on
5. Press the "on" button again to connect to phone: "Connected: crap earpiece" Success!
6. Place earpiece back in ashtray and commence journey
7. Get on motorway and get bored very quickly: decide to see if Trillion has left work and if she fancies a chat on her way home
8. Retrieve crap earpiece from ashtray and balance over ear and slightly in the ear
9. Press "on" button to activate voice dialling
10. "Speak now"
11. "Trillion"
12. Nothing
13. "Trillion"
14. Nothing
15. Press "on" button to end call
16. Press "on" button try again
17. Phone dies
18. Press and hold phone "on" button to turn phone off
19. Press and hold phone "on" button to turn phone on
20. Enter pin
21. ****
22. "Welcome to Orange"
23. Emergency brake to avoid stationary traffic ahead
24. Repeat step 5: "Connected: crap earpiece"
25. Activate voice dialling AGAIN: "Speak now"
26. "Trillion"
27. "Found: Trillion, Dialling: Trillion"
28. "Tum-te-tum... Come on, answer!"
29. "Welcome to Orange answerphone. The person you are calling is not available. Please leave your message after the tone. If you wish to re-record your message, press 1 at any time"
30. Hang up, disconnect crap earpiece and return it to the ashtray
31. Phone rings

Look who's coming to dinner

I've been invited to dinner today - that's "tea" if you're from the north of England; as far as I'm concerned, "dinner" is either your midday meal, or an evening meal that you dress up for.

The woman who is in charge of the cooking wanted to know what sort of food that I like. Well, I don't think I'm particularly fussy, I'll eat most things, but I'm quite particular about the way things are prepared. I said it would easier for me to tell her what I wouldn't eat, so I sent her the following, which is reproduced from a post that was written back in March:


There are loads of things that are supposed to be nice or good for you, or so "the mysterious they" tell us. Just who are "they"? Whoever they are, "They're" responsibile for telling all sorts to the masses.

Anyway, enough of that. People, real people, tell us that certain things are nice and you should try them, but there are certain things that I won't touch with a bargepole. Here are some of them, starting with foods.

Will not try under any circumstances:

• Cottage cheese: No fucking way; it looks like puke. Next!
• Swede, turnips: What the fuck? You trying to kill me with your root vegetables? NO WAY!! Next!!!
• Muller rice: Absolutely not, no way, not under any circumstances.
• Tinned spaghetti/spaghetti hoops: Hoops! Need I say more?
• Bread sauce: Y'what? I'd never even heard of this pig-swill till a couple of Christmases ago, then I saw some!
• Pringles: All that crunching in the ads and that stupid moustached man on the packaging has put me off.

Have tried, donlikit, don't want ever again:

• Cooked carrots: Love 'em raw; they turn into evil nasty things when cooked. Next!
• Polenta: Yeeeeuuuchhh. Not nice as a slop, been put off other ways of preparation.
• Tea: Fucking disgusting; the smell makes me want to be sick.
• Lychees: Bell ends that taste like Parma violets. Nasty.
• Cranberries: Come on! You lot who claim to like these little sour bastards are having a laugh aren't you?
• White cabbage: What's the point of this stuff?
• Salad cream: What on earth is this crap? Doesn't even need commenting on. Mayonnaise isn't much better.
• Coca Cola: Vile.

Things that I'm quite fussy about:

• Peas in things: Lovely on their own, but don't put them in my bloody curry!
• Mashed potatoes running into my gravy: Better keep it safe and not have any sauce on the same plate as my mash. Shepherds pie can be quite traumatic.
• Things mixed in things: Back to the pea scenario here. Keep stuff separate on my plate or there'll be trouble.
• Mashed up stuff: Don't mush my food up. Go ahead and put tuna in my pasta sauce, but keep it chunky; let it go flaky and you've ruined the entire meal because I will not eat it!
• Cream sauces on pasta: Don't be ridiculous.
• Drinks must come in cans (or glass): Don't bother buying a 2L saver bottle of Pepsi Max because you're wasting your money. Drinks do not taste the same out of plastic bottles. The only exception is fizzy water.
• Lack of salt: You DO need a bit of salt to bring out the flavour of food. I admit I eat far too much salt, but don't give me your "no salt is better" crap because you're just cooking something that won't taste of anything. And Lo Salt tastes of potassium, it also burns your mouth, it's horrible.
• Cucumber: Take the skin off!
• Bread: Don't butter it if you're making me a sarnie (unless it's a chip butty, then you need to put plenty on).
• Crisp packets: Red/dark blue = ready salted; pale blue = salt & vinegar; green/yellow = cheese & onion. Not difficult, but Walkers had to fuck it up for everyone.

Easy, n'est pas? Anyway, she's got the message and we're having two veggie curries with a grilled haloumi starter. Fuckin' delish.

A custodion of books

Thanks to Andy, I'm now going to tell you about some books and things. This is very difficult for me since I only learnt to read when I was 29.

Here goes...


Total number of books owned, ever
Is this some sort of joke? I've no idea, probably around 400-500. I currently have about 200, or is it 80? I really couldn't say.

Last book I bought
Errrm, I think it was a bulk buy of the Cirque du Freak series by Darren Shan - a young boy becomes a half vampire to save his friend's life and goes on lots of adventures with his vampire boss.


Last book I read
I can't remember. I'm afraid blogging has very much interefered with my reading over recent months. It could well be Morality for beautiful girls by Alexander McCall-Smith, book three of the Number 1 ladies detective agency series. Or it could've been one of the Darren Shan books.


Five books that mean a lot to me
Right, I'm going to go for series of books for some of these

1. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, JK Rowling. Don't laugh. I was a tad poorly a few years back and I found myself not doing much with my spare time. A friend recommended that I start reading to help pass the time, he said that he'd recently read this book that all the kids were going mad for and that he'd enjoyed it and had the others in the series. That book was the first in the Harry Potter series. Reluctantly, I read it and I found myself enjoying it, I realised that I actually enjoyed reading and it got me into the habit of always having a book on the go. This was very important at the time and it helped to turn things around for me a little bit.

I've read and re-read all the books in this series, my favourite so far is The Prisoner of Azkaban.


2. The Lion, the Witch and the wardrobe, CS Lewis. Magical. Every child who read this book believed that Aslan would save the day. It's one of those that can be read time again without ever losing anything. Wonderful story. This is even more special because my sister used to read it to me when we were kids (we shared a bedroom).


3. The Talisman and Black House, Stephen King & Peter Straub. Brilliant stories, excellently written, full of monsters, horror and suspense. The problem with Stephen King is that he can go a bit overboard on descriptive text sometimes and it's nice to have this broken up by Straub's writing. These two books don't have much in the way of sentimental value, just impact.

I was also particularly impressed with King's Gerald's Game and Dolores Claiborne.


4. His Dark Materials, Philip Pullman. I read these books and was totally and utterly captivated by every single thing about them: the concepts, the characters, the writing, the way they pissed of the Catholics. The WRITING is amazing, particularly in The Amber Spyglass. I was left completely stunned when I'd finished reading this trilogy.


5. Asterix the Gaul, Goscinny & Uderzo. Not just Asterix the Gaul, but all the others too. These are the reason I never read properly when I was a kid; I couldn't cope with proper text or books because they just didn't interest me. Every time we went to Italy for our hols, we always went armed with the latest Asterix adventures and even resorted to buying Italian editions of new books if we finished all ours while away.

I still love my comics today and I ADORE Bill Waterson's wonderful Calvin & Hobbes. I like the way Waterson never compromised by submitting to the commercialisation of his work - there is no Calvin & Hobbes merchandise except the books themselves, although you can get a few of the limited edition lithographs.


So, those are some sniffy books. I haven't even mentioned Lemony Snicket or Robin Jarvis, but both of these authors deserve a mention because they've provided me with such a huge amount of enjoyment with their work.

I'll spare you all the trouble and I won't pass it this on to anybody else, but it'd be interesting to learn of others' favourite reads if anybody can be bothered.

Attack, attack, attack!

There's nothing worse than being attacked when your defences are down. Well, I suppose being attacked is pretty crap anyway, but it's even worse when you're absolutely helpless.

In space, no-one can hear you scream.

The same is true of a locked bathroom when you're sat on the pot for your night-time wee and these fuckers come flying through the window at you:

I didn't let it out of my sight for a millisecond, concentrating on where it bobbed about in its stupidly drunken fashion of flying to see where it finally landed. It landed on my shower scrunchie thing (that thing that's like a pair of tights that makes you get the most out your shower gel). BASTARD THING.

The worrying this is that I don't know where it ended up, but I think they only live for about a day so I reckon it's toast now anyway. Ha!

Attack of the moans

There was an interesting "Paul McCartney is an embarrassing twat"/"No, he's an icon" debate going on in the Best of British II post. Gary, who turns out to be pretty decent, was rather upset at my attack on Sir Paul, or the nature of it and he commented to tell me so. This was how it went:

At 23 June, 2005 23:52, Anonymous said...
A bunch of kids bad mouthing icons.Where were you in 1964?Leave my man Paul alone. He has kept on tick'n.On the other hand, if all you can do is knock other's sucess - maybe you need a life!Gary

At 24 June, 2005 01:36, Anonymous said...
(Keith in Minneapolis)Have you noticed how Paul McCartney has turned into Angela Lansbury?


At 24 June, 2005 17:03, Tina said...
Gary the McCartney defender: just look at that picture of him, think about how he used to stand there and wobble his fucking head from side-to-side while "ooooh-ing" and "ahhhhh-ing", think of the Frog's chorus and all the other complete fucking shite he's come out with, and then tell me he's a superstar. He's crap and he's an embarrassment. In fact, the only one with any talent in the Beatles was George Harrison; most of Lennon's stuff was bollocks too.As far as getting a life, maybe you're right. But it wouldn't be very interesting if I couldn't express my own opinion in my own blog, would it?

At 24 June, 2005 17:05, Anonymous said...
AnonymousWhere was I in 1964? Not gestating in the belly of a godawful proto hippy chick, that's for sure.Macca's position is indefensible. He inflicted the aural atrocity that is 'The Frog's Chorus' on zillions of unprotected eardrums.Consequently,he must die. Preferably bludgeoned to death with his wife's wooden leg.

At 24 June, 2005 17:23, Tina said...
Oh, Anonymous, that's one of the funniest things I've heard all day! And an actual use for Heather Mills-McCartney too. Fantastic.

At 24 June, 2005 17:25, Anonymous said...
You are right, you can have and post your opinion. I have mine too.'Didn't say he is a ss, just an icon.My whole point was not to defend Paul, but to call attention to your attitude. People who bad mouth speak more of themselves.Have an opinion - speak it - just be less juvenile, if you want to be taken seriuosly.Gary

At 24 June, 2005 19:15, Tina said...
Why would I want to be taken seriously here in a "homorous" blog? I have to be taken seriously enough at work all day, if I wanted to be taken seriously in my blog, I'd write tomes about research governance and all other types of legislation.I never claimed to be composing a serious critique about "Sir Paul", and I'd never write one anyway because a) I'm not interested in him and b) I'm not knowledgable enough about that sort of thing. What I can do, in my blog, is have a pop at anybody I like.For fuck's sake, why do I always get them here? You never see this shit over at Herge's, unless he deletes those particular comments.

At 24 June, 2005 21:09, Anonymous said...
Anonymous GaryWe are only indulging in the quaint Brit tradition of 'spleen venting'.This cathartic activity prevents us from charging en masse towards the English Channel to mount our lilos and invade France brandishing large black puddins.Anonymous Garf

At 24 June, 2005 22:07, Anonymous said...
Ok, I get it, you are venting........ :-)Perhaps I am guily also.Gary

At 24 June, 2005 22:17, Anonymous said...
Sorry for the typo:guilTy also..A post script in my defense: I was in High School when the Beatles became popular in the US. I liked most of their work. It can be said that I find it a little strange feeling to see that the icons of the past are in the "Retirement" ages. (Especially the Stones, they need to retire as they are embarassing now!! ) Enough,Gary

I hope Gary comes back, he seems pretty cool. And he called us all a "bunch of kids", which I found incredibly flattering. Not like Ryan J. Ryan is a complete and utter fuckwit. Ryan is a little boy who has a lot of growing up to do.

Bwaaavo!

Money for nothing

Yep, I'm doing about 10 hours a week as a "locum analytical scientist" to help out a former colleague and to earn a bit of extra cash. It's fucking ace! After a few years away and a bit of time to refresh, you come to realise that lab work is really good fun, it requires real skill and you need to use your brain too. So much nicer than being solely office based. Oh for the days.

Anyway... I've been at work this morning and, what with finishing by midday, I've essentially been paid to do something that I've enjoyed, during a time when I'd usually be dossing about the house in my pyjamas. It also means that I make the most of the rest of my free time (in theory).

Photoshop accident

You may have seen the Sniffy photo-shoot post below. This strange collection was what happened when I tried to click and drag the photo montage from Powerpoint into Photoshop.

Some call this sort of thing "art", I call it "Photoshop fuck-up".

Politically correct, foul-mouthed insults

When I was a kid, well admittedly even now, my favourite insults to hurl at people generally resort to likening the recipient to a person with some sort of disability. The favourites being:

• Spastic / spaz / spack / spacker / Joey (Deakin, the Blue Peter in-house spastic)
• Mong / mongoloid / mongo
• Windowlicker
• Dur-brain

You get the message.

There was an incident a few years ago when I was doing my PhD and some twat of a security guard had locked one of the lab doors so I couldn't get access to a particular room when I was working at night. I found the woman and, after a bit of a rant in which she didn't bother listening to my request to have the door unlocked, I stormed back the lab, and wrote a note with the wording "Do not lock this door, you spastic" to stick on the offending door.

Let's just say I got a telling off. It was quite amusing to see a photocopy of the note attached to the security guard's transcript of our coming together. Cunt.

Anyway, I've learned my lesson now and I never write down insults, and I never tell people who might get me into trouble that they're "spastics".

Political correctness gone mad! I hear the populus cry.

Well, I think we've been forced into resurrecting some fantastic Olde Englishe expletives because of this. It's because of this that I'm now fully justified in using:

• Twat
• Cunt
• Nob'ead
• Dickhead
• Fucker
• Fuckin', fuckin', fuckin', FUCKIN', TOSSPOT FUCKING TWAT!
• Shithead
• Tosser
• Wanker
• (Shit off you) Shitting shitter

I can say any of those without the slightest bit of concern whatsoever.

Ahhhh, my blood pressure just dropped by a few millimetres of mercury for getting those out of my system. It's just a shame that women have to degrade themselves by using foul language.

"Show me love": Sniffy photo-shoot

Here are the out-takes from my sniffy photo-shoot. I had to set the camera on self-timer and I also took the opportunity to act like a complete twat in front of the lens, clearly trying my best to emulate Sir Paul McCartney. Thank fuck I didn't even try to do "sultry".

"Twat"

Beautiful

BBC SPORT | Tennis | The Tim-ometer

What with BEING AT WORK until 9.30pm, I've only just seen this.

When the world knows your name

Everyone will want one of these once the world knows my name! I might even be able to treat myself to some foundation garments that fit me when I'm famous. Bad bra and too tight top is not a good combination.

What am I hiding? (Not the tops of my massive arms, that's for sure!)

Shout it loud: I'm cakesniffy and I'm proud!

Part timer

Mongoloids
Some of the people I work with are complete mongs. As I've alluded to, I work across 2 bases, so my week is split 50/50 between them. That's the theory. In practice I tend to spend more time in one because of the workload, so I only end up coming here (Base 2) one or two days a week.

We have "housekeepers" at Base 2. There are two of these ladies who job share, so they work alternate weeks. I came in this morning and Pam, who's pretty thick, said "Oh hello, long time no see", as if to say, "Where the fuck have you been, you lazy cow?". She obviously failed to realise that it's her that's not been here, not me.

I hate being called a part-timer when I work longer hours than any of these bastards. I travel 30-odd miles to get here, arrive at least an hour before everybody else (during which time I blog away to my heart's content) and they all saunter in at 9.15, complaining about the queues at Asda where they've just "nipped in" before coming to work. They then have a go at me for leaving before 5pm, despite the fact that I've got an hour's drive ahead of me.

The world would be a better place without them. Pam doesn't even make us toast. I think this is because she doesn't know how to work a toaster, or a loaf of bread. She hasn't got any eyebrows either.


Hot
Summer's here in Britain (except Scotland I think). About fucking time too. We're expecting temperatures of about 24°C today and it's going to be sunny. I'm ashamed to say that I'm wearing sandals, no socks, and I haven't even got nail polish on my toes. Disgraceful. My heel skin is in need of a bit of pumicing, but these sandals don't show heel anyway.

At least I haven't got my big, fuck-off flabby arms out though!

I do love the summer. I love that inability to control your temperature. It's wonderful being so uncomfortably hot. Other people can't cope though. At Base 1, I have to suffer the indignity of Park & Ride to get to work while there's a huge construction project going on. I was on the bus the other day and this big, massive woman got on, sat next to a colleague of hers and said "I can't wait till winter, I hate this weather". I almost turned round and slapped her. If I'd have knocked some of her teeth out, perhaps she wouldn't be able to stuff her face for a week or so. Consequently she'd lose a bit of weight and the insulation that's making the ever-so hot 23°C temperatures we've had to endure for all of 2 days so fucking unbearable to her! Twat.

For my other thoughts about NHS employees and summer in general, you may wish to cast your mind back to:

Plastic spoons and used teabags, 17th February 2005
Farts, 26th April 2005
Tiger Tim Henman, 4th May 2005
Workplace stress, 13th May 2005
Summer bees, 24th May 2005
Summer madness, 8th June 2005



Periods
In the words of Tina Turner, Women of a certain age... well, I can't remember what comes after, but all I know is that most women of a certain age (between about 13 and 45) have periods. I'm not getting into the whole menstrual cycle, PMS, butcher's slab thing - it's been done to death and it's not interesting.

Women are a bit funny when they've "got the decorators in": like I said, nearly every woman has periods, but even in a female-dominated workplace, most try to hide the fact when they're having theirs. Not that I go looking, but there are telltale signs, the biggest one being, taking their handbag to the toilet. I don't get that. I just get my toxic shock tampon from wherever it's been mangled in my bag or desk drawer, and I go.

One of the worst things about periods, and ladies' toilets in general, is the sanitary disposal unit.

These things stink. I don't know what they use to clean them out, but it's disgusting. You sometimes knock the foot pedal that opens the flap of doom by accident and you get this waft of death that circulates the entire lav.


Hang on a minute!
Hazlenut flavoured coffeemate? Why haven't we got this in the UK????


Joke:
Q: What's better - Parkinsons or Alzheimers?
A: Parkinsons. It's better to spill half your drink than forget where you put it...

Pick and mix part deux

It was the League of Gentlemen's Apocalypse and it was fucking top notch!

There was this bit where Mr Chinnery wanked off a giraffe....

Sorry, it'll be worth the weight.

Edit: "Worth the weight"???? I meant worth the wait. Told you I was tired. I'm worth my weight in Pick and Mix - not Asda Pick and Mix, which isn't up to much; real, proper Woolies Pick and Mix.

Pick and mix

The cinema is a weird place.

I've just come back from one.

The film was good.

I shall contruct a full and creative post tomorrow. Too tired now.

How long?

I've been over to Leeds this evening. Driving back on the motorway, I saw two things worth comment:

Firstly, I was behind a wagon that was transporting Coffeemate - a non-dairy coffee whitening powder that is simply delish! I was left pondering how long it'd take me to use a whole wagon load of Coffeemate. I think it'd be approaching a lifetime.

The next thing I saw had me gasping in shock. It's midsummer day here (is it midsummer everywhere in the northern hemisphere today?) and, I don't know what bearing this has on things, but there was quite a good sunset over the Pennines around Huddersfield. Anyway, I noticed that a woman had stopped in the hard shoulder of the other carriageway and was taking photos of the sunset. How fucking mad is that? I know it was a good viewing point but with things flying by at up to 100mph, it's probably not the safest. Daft twat.

That's all for today; I'm too tired and it's too late for me to be creative. Work is pissing me off and stressing me out and my tits look fucking terrible over at Connie's knockerific contest.

Best of British - part the second

Having assassinated a selection of British stars of stage and screen - plus Tiger Tim Henman and Sir Cliff Richard, not forgetting Sirs Ellen McArthur, Kelly Holmes and Tanni Gray Thompson - I thought I'd take a bit more time to nominate a few more twats from the British Isles for execution in my Snifferlution.

Are there any more left?

Of course there are!

How's about:

Sir Paul McCartney
What an embarrassing bloke; it's like having your dad acting the rock star. Everything about him is just wrong, wrong, WRONG! The way he wears trainers with a suit, the way he gives the victory v salute. And his music is crap.

For fuck's sake, you're 63 - grow up!

Sir Bob Geldof
Git. He's terribly embarrassing too. I feel he's making a laughing stock of himself and consequently diluting the message about the help that the poorest nations of the world need.

Geldof or Germaine Greer after a heavy night?

St Bonio (aka boring old Paul Hewson)
Those glasses? Just fuck off. He and U2 lost all credibility after the Joshua Tree. I don't really know how to place them - up their own arses seems most appropriate.

Lose those fucking glasses you arse!

Mary, Mary quite contrary...

How does your garden grow?

"Well, not very well since I put that complete spack Tina in charge - she's killed all my plants!"

Gardening
The simple Euphorbia has a lot to answer for. A few years ago, some friends gave me a sample to put in the garden after I'd asked what was good for areas where there's not much sunlight; I was given some euphorbia cuttings.

I started digging up some of the border and weeding and stuf, to clear space for the new arrivals. That was about5 years ago and I feel as if I've not stopped weeding yet.

I was out in the garden today; cleared a load of weeds and lots of grass that grows in the borders from the lawn roots that grown under there. It was extremely warm and was glad when I finally gave up after three hours in the full heat of the day.

But then I had to do it. I had to ruin all my hard work for the day. There's this plant thing that is quite effective, but has slightly taken over where it lives. So I decided to split it and put a portion in the border that I'd just cleared. I don't think it liked having its root system hacked with a spade: neither of the two halves look particularly happy. Dead in fact:

So yes, that's what I did today - broke my garden.


Ill-heath and the gardening Cakesniffer
Don't believe what anybody tells you about gardening being good for your health, it's a load of crap being spouted by the Church of the Seventh Day Titchmarshes.

First off, it makes you nervous wreck because you're always concerned about being attacked by stinging insects and evil spiders or sucked to death by fucking slugs. Some of the things you find in the soil and beneath rocks would make you sick - straight out from a science fiction horror film. As a result, I have to wear a full biological warfare suit when in the garden, just in case one of these bastards touches me and infects me with its 0/6/8/100 leggedness.

Eeeeewwww!

I always get sunburnt when I garden. It can start off a nice cloudy day, then the next thing you know is you've lifted your head 3 hours laters, only to find that you can't because the sun's come out and you've burnt the back of your neck to a crisp. I've also burnt my arse crack and my forearms, but not my hands because I always wear gloves. It's a winning look: bright red arms and white hands!

Fainting. I always lose track of time and forget to eat until it's too late: I'll stand up from a kneeling position and, after overcoming the pain in my neck and ears from the sunburn, I'll feel faint and have to drop to my knees again. It's quite difficult to stand when you've got all over body shakes and trying to get a signal into the house for somebody to bring emergency pastry supplies is almost impossible.

Immobility. I won't be able to walk tomorrow and my shoulders will have stiffened up too.

So take it from me, gardening is rubbish.

For more images of my garden, please feel free to visit my Webshots gallery.

Voters signal clear "NO" to VAG in a Sniffy blog

VAG in a ...VAGina...VAGINA! Get it? No vagina in Sniffy blog!

Fuck it, don't know what I bother for.

Anyway, I've set the default to Tahoma. It's not a fontastic character, but it's inoffensive and everybody has it installed on their machines. I say "everybody", I'm not too sure about Macs: I had to endure an iMac in one of my jobs and it was more of an etch-a-sketch that would crash every 10 minutes and you had to bang and shake it to reboot before it'd do anything. I think its font selection was limited to: "Serious", "Funny", "Comic", "Spazmo", "Fucktard", and "What you using letters for? This is a Mac, Mac users only use the mouse". Luckily, it got stolen.


Secret messages
I've been writing a secret message to blog world and nobody's picked up on it. It's a good job I wasn't desperate for somebody to save my life or something! Then again, I could've just called the police or written, "Oh, I think there's an axe murderer coming for me! Please call the police somebody", rather than leaving cryptic clues.

Let's see what Sniff's going on about...

You see?

I might start a new fashion in blog world. You could have a theme over an above each individual post and this is indicated by some sort of code in the titles of the constituent posts for that theme. But nobody knows what the theme is until the code is revealed. Or there may be no theme at all, the author may simply STILL be mulling over something that some numpty said in a shop a couple of weeks back because they are just a little bit odd and obsessive. Or they may just have a long-term compulsion for salty snacks (as well as bakery products).

Dalek love

EXTERMINATAMUNDOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Clickytastic.

For all of you who haven't got VAG rounded thin, this is what my page should look like. Fuck it, it's not even interesting and blood sugar's too low.

Suspicious

I'm still a bit suss about that PI Squared blog. Or perhaps intrigued is a better word for it.

I've not really been checking up on it that regularly, but there's something odd about it... more than something odd I suppose. It's supposed to be in America, the timestamp is American, but that's easily enough done. HOWEVER, the author uses English spellings for words. Sorry, I mean British English.

"also been round the neighbours i didn't get to interview before - they've given me nothing new, except one guy who reckons he saw the truck going up the road with his binoculars from his bedroom window."

This is consistent throughout the text. I also find it a bit odd that the first letter of a sentence isn't capitalised; why would this be?

Now, last time I mentioned my suspicions, I said that the PI squared blog had appeared at a time that coincided with visits to the Half an identity blog from a person who I suspect to be Sam Black - Half an identity's creator. It's interesting to note that the web traffic site meters have now been removed from Half an identity so it's not going to be possible to do this check again. Clever.

I just reckon the two blogs are written by the same person - Sam - who I said originally linked to another personal webpage where she wrote about her interests in creative writing and stuff.

It doesn't matter one bit, it's just interesting to do a little detective work of my own.

Obscene

Let's see if this shite thing works today.

Sonny the cat is quite rude - he sticks his tongue out at me a fair bit. Even worse, when he's prowling up and down the desk here and getting excited, there's sometimes this really horrible smelly goo that comes out of his bum. You only need a micro-droplet of it to make you feel poorly. I think it's something to do with his male scent gland things. Disgusting.

Mutilated

Socks should always be worn with shoes. I was wearing some open-backed shoes today and I took my socks off because it was warmish (and because I realised I looked a complete tit with socks on). It wasn't a wise move and I suffered - badly:

I was walking to the shops in them (for the second time) and I realised my toe was rubbing so I applied a plaster. But I made the mistake of wrapping it around the toe and this just rubbed the existing wound even more. I saw sense soon enough and put another plaster over the top of the toe and this did the trick, but the damage was done and the toe had been rubbed right down to the bone. It'll probably have to be amputated tomorrow.


Hello! from Picasa
Stupid bastard thing won't log me on to Blogger so I couldn't use it to upload that photo. I can log on as one user easily enough, but not as Cakesniffer. I think it's a conspiracy from the Finnish.


Font of all knowledge
I'm thinking of changing my font from Verdana. Any preferences anyone? I think this should default to Century Gothic. Is the small size OK?

Nah, can't read that. What about a bit bigger?

An edit before bedtime: I'm on to "VAG rounded thin" now. I've no idea how this will appear on machines where this font isn't installed (I think it's an Adobe font). Let me know if you can't read it. Or how about letting me know your favourite fonts of all time, live a top five fantastic fonts? How about least favourite ones two? Here goes:

Fontastic:

1. VAG rounded thin
2. Franklin gothic book
3. Trebuchet MS
4. Verdana/Tahoma
5. Century Gothic

Little Lord Fontleroy:

1. Times New Roman (I really hate this font with a passion)
2. Courier
3. Brushscript (or anything scripty)
4. Rockwell
5. Wingdings (rubbish)

Enraged

Fucking cheeky Finnish CUNTS!

If you're after some happy fucking crafts from a bunch of hurdy-gurdies, you've come to the wrong place. The bastards you're looking for are in Finland and they're happy.

I'm in England and I'm LIVID! You won't find happiness here, you'll find misery and reality.

I see there's also an Angry Chimp imitator knocking about too.

I stole this name from Lemony Snicket first, how dare some twats from the North Pole do the same? And to have a nearly identical URL? WANKERS! They'll be getting all my search traffic and everything.

If only Chernobyl had wiped the bastards out!

Christmas

Six months and 8 days, or one hundred and ninety one days. That's how long we've got till Christmas Day. A hundred and eighty nine sleeps until Father Christmas comes to visit excited youngsters across the globe.

If you live in a place that's anything like where I do, this means that there are probably only 140 days until your scumbag neighbours put their Christmas decorations up. Wankers. These tossers usually have their houses emblazoned with lights and tinsel by the end of the first week of November. Common, that's what they are. No class. And no doubt it's us poor bastard tax payers who contribute to their huge electricity bills because they don't lift a finger to do a job themselves.

This aside, I found myself getting excited about Christmas today, the hottest day of the year so far (all of 24°C). I love it! It's the most mental 2 weeks of the year - just look at what people do to their houses during Advent, it's fucking bonkers. Who'd have thought having a tree in the house was normal? And all those lights? It's great! (But obviously for no longer than a month at the absolute max).

Rasping

This just goes to show that people with great imaginations and artistic ability can also be wonderfully stinging and succinct in their attacks.

Imagination

I despise people who have imaginations. They must sit around, daydreaming and pissing about with their woolly thoughts. You used to sit next to pathetic girls at school who'd be thinking up some fairystory about pretty girls who wear tap-dancing ballerina fairy princess veterinarian dresses.

I, on the other hand, take time to reflect on real things and events.

I'm insanely jealous of people who have imaginations.

Ask me to make up a story and I can't do it. I have great difficulty describing what things look like - I just don't know the correct adjectives and metaphors. I can't describe what people look like, or the clothes they wear, but I can tell you what they're like as a person (usually using the words "cock", "twat", "nobhead", "wanker", etc).

I could never be a musician because I could never make up a tune from scratch and I could never learn a piece by ear: although I had good technical skills, I could only play after I'd heard how it was meant to be played and if I also had the music to follow.

I'm excellent at drawing, but I'm useless with a blank piece of paper unless I have something to copy. I suppose that's why I like photography so much.

It's a shame that somebody with a decent command of English can't do much else with the skill other than launch vicious attacks on deserving sections of society.

If a friend accidentally left a pair of their knickers on my bathroom floor, I'd simply wash them, dry them and give them back. I wouldn't sniff the gusset or sleep with them before sticking them on the boil wash. It would never occur to me to to wash them, dry and iron them and then stick them in the post with this accompanying note:

Still, I have other strengths and, let's face it, the world would be a boring place if we all had the imaginations of Herge Smith or Trillion.

And I make a fucking top notch lasagne.

Stretch

When you get fat, you get stretch marks. They start off sort of purple, but fade over the years to this silvery mark that makes your skin look like it's been attacked with a lattice cutter.

Now, I'm the epitome of slim, so imagine my surprise when I discovered that I was afflicted with a stretch mark on my tummy! I was even more surprised when I saw it close up:

Good job Trillion was on hand to photograph it for me or I doubt anybody would believe me. I wonder if I could find a volunteer to take a photo of my Virgin Mary-shaped haemorroid?

Further to yesterday's colon problems, I have to admit that I've been feeling pretty rotten today too. I did have a massive and very dense poo earlier on, so hopefully things will start to ease up fairly soon. This evening's effort was a NUMBER 3/4!

Edit: I've just had a load of beetroot. We all know what this'll mean for the morning's deep pan experience!

Pain

Today I felt pain like I have not felt for some time. I had...

EXCRUTIATING POO PAIN

It all started with feeling very hungry at around 10am, then this air pocket sort of descending from my stomach into my duodenum and it got trapped there. I had to go for a wander to see if it'd work its way down into a fart, but to no avail.

I thought I was going to faint at one point, it was so bad. I had cold sweats and everything.

I kept trying to go to the toilet, but everytime there was somebody in one of the other cubicles. Not knowing how many decibels would result from the gaseous release from my arse, I daren't risk it. As a result, the pain got worse and worse. I eventually managed to have a poo in peace and the relief was instant. The poo itself was so big, dense and air-tight that it effectively caused an air lock in my colon and this built up the pressure that caused all the discomfort. There wasn't much gas after all that, all that came out was a bit of a damp hiss.

I feel quite swollen now; like somebody has inflated my bowel to the dimensions of a party balloon.

On the Bristol Stool Score, I'd rate today's effort as a NUMBER 3:

It's great to see that the National Digestive Diseases Information Clearing House (NDDIC), which is a division of the National Institute for Diabetes and Digestive and Kidney Diseases (NIDDK), has produced a whole interweb factsheet to put us colic-inflicted cakesniffers at ease.

Oh, the pain!

The moment you've all been waiting for...

Yep, I put it back in my eye for all of 10 seconds this evening. It was very uncomfortable and stung - a bit like putting battery acid into your eye - but I could see through it!

I didn't exactly feel like Steve Austin, The Bionic Man. And, rather than the bionic vision close-up focus sound effect, the only noise I made was saying "Fuck, fuck, fuck" while I was trying to hurry up and take the photo.

Children of the Revolution

Connie has tagged me (whatever that means) to make me do this. Apparently, I need to tell Blogland about FIVE things that I miss from my childhood... just check I've got this right... yep, five. I've got to do some linky tab things too. Fuck, when can I get back to bitching about life?

1. My mum's sister, my Auntie Lil. She died when I was 12, but I have fond memories of my childhood growing up around her and my cousins, particularly Christmas and the summertime. It was the ideal family life of the mid- to late 1970s, with family parties and special meals. She was obsessed with Wimbledon and would barely leave the TV during the whole competition. She was a lovely, caring person and I can still remember being cheeky to her and upsetting her once, I can't remember apologising properly for it. When she died, my mum kind of fell apart a bit and the family was never really the same again.
2. Seaside holidays in Rimini. My dad's from Italy and his sisters all lived in the Rimini/Riccione area on the Adriatic Riviera. We had holidays there when I was a kid. It was ace: 3 weeks with my cousins; down the beach every day; barbecues all the time; food that had never been heard of in the UK. Dad used to get me up at the crack of dawn and take me to the beach to see the sand getting raked and cleaned up, ready for the day. We'd stop off at the bakery on the way back to his sister's and buy fresh focaccia and other bread for the day, plus fresh prosciutto and stuff. We always wanted to go to the Fiabilandia funfair thing. All I can remember are the go-karts that were there, and giant King-Kong that was on display at the time of that crap film that was out in the 70s.
3. The dressing up box. We had a box of clothes that we got dressed up in. There was a nurse, a fairtstory prince and a something else. There were lots of things and I think there was even a sequinned tu-tu. It was great fun and I'm sure my mum loved that fact that it kept us all relatively quiet for a while.
4. Shaker-Maker and the Snow White jigsaw. Shaker Makers were ace. These things consisted of a variety of plastic molds, which formed the shape for a sort of plaster of paris mix that you shook up to mix. Once set, you hardened them in the airing cupboard and painted them with the stuff that was supplied. Messy excellence. The Snow White jigsaw was one of the worst episodes of my childhood. It was my favourtite puzzle, but it had to be given away to appease the local aggressive mongoloid who'd burst into the house and was threatening me by standing over me and shouting, "'Av y'go' any digdawdth? Wanna digdaw!!" It was very scary for a 4 year old.
5. Summer. We had summers when I was a child, and summers lasted from the end of May till the end of September. You'd break up from school in July, disappear down the local woods for a couple of months, and go back in early September. It would have been baking hot and sunny constantly for the entire holiday. I can't remember much summer rain when I was a child.

Now, apparently, I've got to do some sort of tag thing? No idea what this means.

Lewies Blogs

An Online Diary Of Thoughts

Slightly Inperfect

connielingus

Cakesniffers beware!

And people who won't participate will probably include:

Herge@Angry Chimp

Andy@Walls Come Tumbling

Ed@The Fridge Meg.net

Rowan@How can it seem so right...

Breast is best

In readiness for Connie's knockerific cleavage competition...

A quiet evening in the library

I had a nice night out with the librarians last night. We went to the heart of Manchester's gay village; Canal Street. It was pretty good, but my oh my, were there some freaky people there! I was particularly taken with a delightful young lady in some lesbian bar - she was about 5'9", overweight, shiny-shaved head, covered in piercings and tattoos, wearing a very tight vest and very tight black jeans (and docs). We were accompanied by couple of gay chaps, one of whoms is a vicar, I said to him "I'm sure Jesus loves her", to which he replied, "Well, I'm sure it's a trial, even for Him".

There was even an ongoing carnival and lots of gangs of women on hen dos, wearing rubbish outfits (and stupid deeley-bopper things on their heads), with even more rubbish shoes. It's great to see that even librarians are bitches when it comes to other women's outfits - under the guise of shocked disapproval of course.

I was constantly being asked what my "type" was and whether anybody had caught my eye. Well, as if I was going to admit anything to the lasses I was with! Besides, most of the people out there were gay blokes, women on hen-dos, or young lasses who were trying out with their mates, or really, REALLY scary women.

Everywhere was very, very loud.

Life thru a lens

Well, here's how it's looking today - it's regained its shape nicely and you can even see the prescription marks on it. It is currently having a bath in tap water (bottom) and this is having some weird effect in terms of gas exchange from within the lens (see the bubbles?). Zerrrry interestink!

We can rebuild it!

Here we go! I'm not certain that this thing will ever get back into my eye (I'm not that fucking stupid), but we'll see if it regains its shape after a good soak in the tub.

Beyond help

Water constitutes about 90% of a contact lens's composition. This is what happens to them when they ping from your finger and land on top of a fluffy radiator, only to be discovered two weeks later when you stand on them in bare feet:

I'm going to try to reconstitute it. A bit like the 6 million dollar man, only for a contact lens worth a fiver.

Don't Nokia it!

I've got a camera on my phone. The phone is great, but the camera is shit. I was in Carphone Warehouse recently and the sales assistant actually came out with "You can really tell how good a phone is by the quality of its camera". Surely you can tell how good a camera is by the quality of its camera, but it's important that a phone has good memory, battery life etc.

Cameras on phones eh?

But still, there are times when you want to capture a moment and a crappy camera on your phone is better than the one you haven't got.

Here are some things that I'd never have had the opportunity to capture without my phone camera thing.

This one's very close to my heart. A particular stretch of the M6 motorway on my commute to and from one of my bases was shut for two and a half years up until December last year. It caused misery and chaos for many. This was my last Friday commute home in the roadworks before they reopened the carriageway.

I went with some friends to see a house they were viewing in Norfolk. There was a pond at the house. There were tadpoles in the pond.

These fish live in mine and Trillion's favourite Indian takeaway: we go there so often they even wave at us.

This is the entrance to my drive at home. There's a community centre alongside the drive. The twat who abandoned this Rover had at least two metres more space to drive forward into, but decided to overhang the drive. Rover drivers are cunts.

This button operates the door to a bank in the Shopping City in Runcorn; it's handy for wheelchair users and folk in those scooter things who can't push. I saw a perfectly able-bodied woman use this instead of pushing the door. How lazy is that? Twat!

Yes, I was in Tesco and I noticed this in the "Outdoor Summer" section. I felt compelled to buy a very solid, very heavy rounders bat after I saw it. Not long now, folks - just 2 weeks till Wimbledon!

Gettin' off, gettin' off, while they're all downstairs... I love that line.