Solitary mind games

Mind games are great. The combatants do battle against each other without war ever really being declared. There are no rules of engagement, just acts of mental insurgency that are deployed to undermine the enemy's will until they finally surrender to the superior strength of the ultimate victor.

Or at least that's how it's supposed to be.

If you're a little bit mental, you tend to play mind games without your opponent even realising it. This is the state of things in my house, in which I am the paying guest of my ageing parents.

I clean the bathroom. I always clean the bathroom; they never do it. Each time I've put the last bit of crap back in there after cleaning it, I swear through gritted teeth that I'm going to hold out and wait till they pull their arthritic fingers out and do it themselves. I'm ashamed to admit that I lasted three months this time, but I had to admit defeat and go clean the fucker just now.

Crap job. But at least I had the satisfaction of doing the first big massive poo in the clean pot. WINNER!


Blogs by women
I'm not sure what to make of that new blogroll. I got myself added to it, but I don't know whether it'll bring (m)any new visitors. Having had a look at a few of the blogs on the list, I'm not sure Cakesniffers will be cup of tea for many of those girls. Since we don't really cover politics, travel, feminist issues, art or other such shit, I'm not sure we'll be particularly appealing. When I say, "we don't cover" those things, I mean we don't cover them seriously - we just take the piss out of them. (See how "we" shares the responsibility for any offence with cakesniffing regulars?)

Who on earth can be bothered writing political commentaries?

And this sort of thing from "Trying to soar":

today's shopping trip
Ok, we just got back at 2pm. We've been gone 4 hours, shopping! LOL

I love grocery shopping (hate paying for it though!) I love to cook, and with my new lifestyle, it opens things up alot for me/us. Here's what I bought:

Farmer's Market:
(4) 2 ft long zucchinis (2 for $1!!!!) [- courgettes]
(4) yellow squash
(1) eggplant [- aubergine]
1 lb greenbeans
(2) beets1 head romaine lettuce
seasoning for jamaican jerk *anything*

Supermarket(s):
Spaghetti squashgreen pepperstomatoesonionsgreen onionsbottom round

Need I go on?

There are a few contributors to this blog, and here's how they describe themselves: "We are chicks trying to soar with the Eagles. We're low-carbing and flyladying our fannies away (literally). "

What the fuck does "flyladying our fannies away" mean? Do people in America not know that "fanny" is another word for "twat"?

And it doesn't matter what your diet is made up of, if you eat all that in one day, you're still going to be a big fat bloatmonger.

In the dock: April pissoff

All rise in court to hear the case of the Crown against April pissoff for the brutal murder of her fucktard nemesis "Scott", aka Fuckwit.

April pissoff:
She confesses to being fed up and a woman, but what else?

The charges were brought against April (above) after the body of Fuckwit was found in the kitchen of her house, an undisclosed address in British Columbia (that's in Canada, where they have bears and snow and fish and things).

Arresting officers of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police took a statement in which the accused said: "I thought he was a seal pup, so I clubbed him to death". She then changed her story after being overheard saying "...he's too fucking ugly to even resemble a seal pup. I could however club him to death and claim I thought it was a distressed beached whale".

When questionned by defence lawyers, April's account of the events leading up to Fuckwit's death became clearer: "I thought my house was being broken into by a whale so I clubbed it to death. I did wonder why its screams sounded like pleas for help, but I was too scared for the safety of my cats, and the children were asleep in their beds too".

The defence drew upon some compelling evidence to help April's cause.

Exhibit A: Fuckwit as a child

Fucktard

April also pleaded that she had suffered years of abuse from her nemesis: "Three fucking minutes. That's a waste of my fucking time. Everybody always laughed when I told them that my daughter was the result of my Nemisis three minutes of fame. Fucking pathetic tosser".

When questionned about whether her nemesis was any good around the house, April answered succinctly:

C - Can't
U - Use
N - New
T - Technology

She went on to describe him as a "Fucking, lame-ass fuck", and continued her convincing performance by stating that, "I swear I should have done him in right after I had the baby and blamed it on postpartum".

On hearing April's statement, and on seeing the evidence put forward in her defence, Judge Cakesniffer stepped in to dismiss all charges against the accused.

The coroner's verdict was changed to "mercy killing".

CASE DISMISSED.

In the dock: Combat pants

This is the first in a new series of posts about "everyday" things that are cause for heated debate throughout the world.

Today, I'm tackling the thorny issue of combat pants.

Before continuing, I'll just cover the UK/US differences in terminology. I'm not sure what the etiquette is over that way, but in the UK, we call long-legged garments, "trousers" and underwear is generally called "pants" or "knickers" or "briefs" - that kind of affair. That's the rule unless you live in the North West of England where "trousers" are often called "pants". No idea why there's the difference here, but there is.

"Pants" is also used as an adjective for something that's a bit crap. So if you hear or read: "That's totally pants", it means that whoever said/wrote it didn't think much of something.

What I mean by combat pants are the new fashion diversion from the army surplus design. They come in all sorts of colours and fabrics, but commonly in khaki, beige or brown - in sort of cottons and shit like that. Another fashion idea is to tart them up with embroidery, suquins and things.

OK the charges brought against combat pants are as follows:

1. You can only wear them if you're under 35
2. You can only wear them if you're less than a size 14 (fuck knows what that is in foreign, you'll just have to work it out for yourselves - let's just say, size 14 is getting on the tubby side of the scales)
3. You can only wear them if you're tall
4. OR you can wear them if you're a shortarse, but can get hold of the right length
5. You can never wear them with high heels under any circumstances (but the type of lasses who usually wear combat pants don't tend to wear high heels anyway)

There are probably lots of other charges to be brought against combat pants, but I can't be arsed to think of any.

EVIDENCE

Exhibit A: 34 year old, 5'4" Cakesniffer in combat pants from TKMaxx

Combat pant fashion models required:

Shortarsed bloaters need not apply

However disappointed I am with combat pants, my Cargo pants more than make up for it.

Jumping for joy in sturdy, correct-length cargos

With the confidence to try anything - even dangerous things

Closing remarks from Judge Cakesniffer
Are combat pants and their derivatives simply the shell suit of the.... errrm what's the terminology for the noughts?... for the 2000s? You are the judge and jury on this one. Let the waiting world know your verdict.

Houseplant big brother

No home is complete without the addition of a bit of well-positioned greenery. Houseplants provide a contrast to the artificial trappings of modern-day furniture and bits of technology that litter our living spaces.

They vary in size, shape, colour, flowering and there's an abundance of flora to suit any householder's requirements.

Why, oh why, oh why then, are we inflicted with this sorry shower of shit?

I'm going to indulge in a blogtastic game of Houseplant Big Brother whereby our contestants face a public vote for eviction from the house. Slightly different to the TV version, you cakesniffers can suggest an interesting fate for whichever useless piece of green (or varigated) shit gets kicked off.

Let's have a look at the contestants.

Housemate 1: Some furry-leafed, semi-suculant, boring crap thing that sometimes flowers. It might be a violet of some kind, but who gives a flying fuck? It looks dreadful.

Housemate 2: Not strictly a houseplant, but indoors is the only place you'll get good old Basil to grow in the UK. Hardly a hardy perennial, this guy goes mad in the sunshine then drops dead as soon as we get to October. Pathetic.

Housemate 3: This is interesting. This is a photo of a Spider plant that I got from Google images. If spider plants looked like this in real life, then I might be willing to forgive them, but they don't do they? To see what spider plants look like in real life, see Housemates 5 and 11.

Housemate 4: Oh goody, the Peace lilly! This specimen had one flower on it when I bought it 4 years ago. It's had one more since. Truly the ugliest, most unreliable waste of space, light and water anybody could imagine. BIN IT!

Housemates 5 & 11: I can't bear the thought of revisiting the Spider plant again, so I'll do these pathetically shit examples together. Whereas Housemate 3 showed us what a spider plant could aspire to (no doubt after taking anabolic steroids), this sorry pair show us the grim reality of spider plant world. They just can't be arsed, can they? In fact they're so unattractive that they have to resort to asexual reproduction. So not only are they fucking gross, they're in-bred with it!

Housemate 6: Aahh, the good old Weeping fig, which has the potential to be a very impressive bit of greenery. Get yourself a weeping fig, put it in a nice big pot with lots of lovely compost, find a nice bright spot in the room and NEVER MOVE IT EVER AGAIN! They just cannot cope with being moved, these things. Shift them from their favourite positions by just a tad and all their leaves fall off. I'm rather fond of my weeping fig - we shared some pretty grim times when we were in Sheffield together, but it almost died when it moved to Manchester with me. Nice plant, but surprisingly crap.

Housemate 7: This is just some sort of boring old parlour palm that never really does anything. It's not particularly attractive or impressive and it has the propensity to fall over when it gets too tall for its pot. Boring.

Housemate 8: Oh look, a Peace lilly that's decided to flower. Well done, have yourself a drop of Baby Bio and take a rest, you must be tired after all that fucking hard work! Pile of shit. I wouldn't mind, but you wait YEARS for it to finally flower and the flowers themselves are the ugliest fucking things you've ever seen. Crap, crap, crap!

Housemate 9: Some other variety of palm that looks particularly good when it's had all its leaves chewed to bits by a neurotic ginger tom.

Housemate 10: Don't know what this is, it's just brown and spikey.

Housemate 12: Don't know what this is; it's just green and spikey.


So there you have our contestants. Leave your vote and any interesting houseplant anecdotes with me and I'll compile a top ten of eviction preferences.

He-she bloggers

Interwebbing is great fun, particularly these blogs. It takes a bit of time, but after a while a community of bloggers builds up who read and comment on each others' endeavours. This goes on for a while and you sort of get to know certain things about people in the gang, more about some than others. The one day, something suddenly dawns on you; you have no idea what sex somebody is. Even more confusing is the fact that the perceived sex seems to change, depending on the post or comment that that particular person submits.

Now, I may be being a bit thick, and this is probably the case, but I have to admit that I've absolutely no idea whether Aasmodeus is male or female.

Come on, have I missed something? Is it something that's just never been mentioned? Or is it some great cunning rouse to keep us all guessing?

Hrrmm.

A warm welcome to my chambers

You'd be hard pushed to find a warmer and more welcoming bedroom than that of yours truly. I spent over a week stripping paper, knocking out plaster, filling cracks, papering and painting back in December. God, it seems like yesterday.

Anyway, by the magic of photo stitching, here's a panoramic shot of my little boudoire:

Admittedly, it's a bit like waking up in a tub of vanilla ice cream, but I like it.

Of course having such a room, any visitor is instantly overcome by its inviting creams and soft percall bedding. The photographs are a point of conversation, but not for long. They sit on the bed, lightly tapping the space beside them; invite me to join them. Looking a bit whatsit, it all starts to get thingy and you lie down alongside each other, faces get closer. Your heart races, images flash through your mind...

Could this be it? Could it really be happening? Getting off while they're all downstairs?

Alas, something seems wrong. Something's caught their eye... it all stops... you join their gaze and look up to see:

Yep, all that hard work on the decorating and I never got round to painting the loft hatch: we were having the loft insulated the week after I'd finished the main job, so I left it because I knew the workmen would make a mess of the hatch as they shoved the bundles of insulation through it. I just never got round to painting it.

Still, at least it's a conversation point.

Shoot to kill

This security alert appeared in my inbox at work today, it's an official notification from the team brief:

------------------------------------------------

CORE TEAM BRIEF

June 2005

Briefing Team: Chief Executive/Corporate Directors/Clinical Directors/Directorate Managers

Security

Warning - We have received a warning from the London Ambulance Service of activities in their area. Whilst the below behaviour is not common place in our area I have spoken with Greater Manchester Police and their risk assessment of the action is to circulate it as a potential'

The London Ambulance service have units closely associated with the Police based in South London who are basically Fighting Gang Crimes. The 'street gangs' in London (particularly South London at present, but it is sure to spread) have initiation tasks which new gang members have to carry out to be admitted to the 'gang'.

The latest craze is to drive around, deliberately with no lights on their cars. The first person who 'flashes' them, points at them or sounds their horn at them, has to be followed by that new gang member in their car, who then has to fire a shot into that vehicle with no regard as to who is inside.

Our official instruction is that if we see a vehicle with no lights on, we are NOT to 'flash' it etc. and the advice to friends and family is that you should ignore any vehicles you see without lights. I would ask that you pass this info on to all your family, friends and colleagues and who knows, it may save a life.

Trust Security Manager

------------------------------------------------

Wow! It seems like the coppers are finding new and more ingenious ways of implementing their shoot to kill policy.

Ho, ho, ho.

Now, this notice was cause for a chuckle because way back when (in February or something), I posted this:

You have to be a complete tit to forget to put your headlamps on while driving at night!

Only complete nobheads forget to put their headlamps on while driving at night. Drivers and pedestrians use elaborate methods to draw errant motorists' attention: pointing; flashing their own headlights; running after the car, mouthing "Your lights!"; and my own particular favourite is to turn my own headlamps off then on again.

My "Your lights!" method came about because of a scare story that was circulating Manchester about ten years ago. Apparently, it was a gangland ploy to attract motorists as targets for random (I've used "random"!) assassinations: drive around with your headlamps off, then track down and shoot the first driver that flashes their headlamps at you. For some reason, I thought that turning my headlamps off then on somehow disqualified me from being the recipient of a bullet to the head - I've no idea how I came to this conclusion, but there you go. Even more worrying was the fact that nothing corroborated the gangland assassination rumour and, an even more serious symptom of my paranoia was that I was living in Coventry at the time!

Anyway, only complete tossers forget to put their headlamps on while driving at night. However, a really ineffective way of alerting people to their forgetfulness is to flash your headlamps at them as they're waiting to pull out of a junction that you're turning in to - they just think that you're flashing them to go. But anyway, I'd like to express my thanks to the nice Renault Laguna driver who flashed me as I was pulling out of Tesco's petrol station this evening; I did eventually put my lights on as I got on to the main road. Tit.

Eye-hand coordination

Having just purchased a massive tub of olives from Tesco, I've discovered that somebody must've switched the garlic-stuffed olives with the plain, unpitted variety somewhere in between me spooning the things out of the bowl and them landing in the tub. How do things like that happen? Your mind plays tricks on you, don't trust it.

posted by Tina @ 20:18 0 comments

Art, part 2

Regular sniffy aficionados will know about my little problem with "art".

Nice then to learn that a £42,500 "exhibit" may have been mistakenly drunk by a visitor to an art exhibition in Devon, or Dorset or somewhere (£42,500 bottle of water snatched). Here's a snippet from the account:

The two-litre clear plastic bottle containing melted ice from the Antarctic was devised to highlight global warming by artist Wayne Hill. But the warm weather is thought to have got the better of someone who snatched it at the Ways with Words festival at Dartington Hall in south Devon.

American-born Mr Hill said the bottle was clearly a work of art.

He said: "It looked like an ordinary bottle of water. But it was on a plinth, labelled, described and in the programme of the whole festival."

The piece, entitled Weapon of Mass Destruction, vanished half way through the festival. Mr Hill fears the bottle was taken and then drunk.

"It was there and then it was gone," he said.

"You do not expect people that come to the festival to be grand theft type of people and security at Dartington is very good, so it is a mystery."

He added: "It is a strong piece and I would like to get my hands on it. It was scheduled for further exhibitions later on in the year, and it was getting around and gaining a small reputation for itself."

Tosser

Interview with an airplane-fixing, lady-loving, eurotrash-canadian grrrly-grrrl

Those who have seen my interview at Angry Chimp will know how this works. I’ve asked Connie of connielingus a few interview questions and it’s given me the opportunity to go back over her blog and remind myself of some of the things I really enjoy about it (apart from the obvious of course!).

Oi oi!

Connie was the first blogger who linked to me, I was thrilled to find her, but a bit confused by all the rust!

"Eat my grinder!"

Here’s what her take is on being a Blogstar.


1. How long have you been blogging?

Since March 2005

Here's how her first post went:

..........and go.........
and so here i am, about to embark on a fabulous new blog......yeah, its gonna be good.....interesting and chock full of wit and insight.....i want to have a cult-like following.....hope that works out.GT's everyone.....GT's


2. Why did you start blogging?

Being a secret, happy, diary writer for years I had read a couple of enticing articles in a mere couple weeks (in my favorite magazines and newspapers), listing the wonderful benefits and happiness available in the world of bloggydom.I guess I was curious.....


3. How many posts have you written to date?

5 months worth.... approx. 150 give or take.......


4. Which post are you most proud of and why?

Well, for readership alone, my "Guess the Knocker Knockout" series. I received 150 people the day I showcased it, and over 200 the day the answers came out....(on an average day I range from 50 - 100 people..).

I am also proud of my "Corrosion of The Week" (just because I sound intelligent.)

STUFF THAT! This one's my favourite!

"Shocked and apppalled"

And not forgetting "The L Word Reviews" BLIMEY!

(Any excuse)

5. Who was the first person to comment on your blog – outside of friends/family?

I think it was Tina Cakesniffer! shortly followed by April Pissoff and Herge The Angry Chimp.....

When Connie met Tina ...aahhhh, intit lovely?



6. What would you rather have – less visitors but more comments or many visitors but no comments?

I used to think more visitors was best, but nowadays I really truly live to see my comments at the end of the day..... I have so many "people" from all over the world who check into my blog almost everyday and never leave a comment. I don't know who they are....... I sorta like knowing, at least a little bit, of who reads my blog. I guess the initial thrill of the anonymous reader has worn off.


(No idea what happened to question 7, or whether I sent it)


8. Do your friends/ family read your blog?

Yes, but I definitely know now the positives to having an anonymous blog that no one knows about!The people I could make fun of! The things I could bitch about!I guess I started out as a sorta "here's my life" blog..... and it's been a variation of that ever since.

We love Connie's friends!

9. How many blogs are there in your links list?

About 25 or so....


10. Which blog do you check out first and why?

I usually start with (not to be sucking up...) Cakesniffers Beware, then on to Angry Chimp.... etc. etc. I have a bit of a mental order which is NOT reflected at all by my links list ..... I am a bit of a scatterbrain... there is no order in this brain.


11. Do you always leave comments at blogs you read?

No not always.... It's a time thing for me... god knows I try, but sometimes I can't think up a witty, intelligent comment that has importance in enough time. I want to be heard and not just seen... you know what I mean?!

12. What do you most like about other blogs?

I really do stick to the honest, bitchy, humorous blogs that are NOT serious and political. I really do enjoy reading about other peoples adventures in their lives..... Tell me about an amusing trip to the Dentist.... Tell me all the things you hate about people in the grocery store line! I adore a good writer that can make even their bowel movements interesting and amusing! Might that be me??


13. What do you most dislike about other blogs?

I don't like Blogs who just repeat the news, whine without humour about their lives, or try and sell something.....


14. What single thing would you like to improve about your blog?

I dunno really.... I wish there was about 4 more hours in the day, then you would REALLY see a BLOGSTAR!!!!!

15. In a conversation about your blog, how would you like it described?

I suppose It's a personal Blog with a twist.... And the Twist is always changing!

Well, that's our Connie for you. A true Blog star if ever there was one. I'd like to thank Connie for taking the time to answer the questions - I know she's busy at the moment and her time is very much appreciated, as are her stupendous efforts in keeping us all entertained across the seas (and rust-free skies). Oh and Connie, if you could think of somebody to interview, if you get the time...?

Whiskas introduce powerful neurotoxin into pouched cat food

This is Max, he's the most gorgeous cat on the planet, no doubt about it...

He's 11 years old and, at a recent check up, the vet said he was a perfect weight - despite seeming a little lightweight - and that most cats are massively overweight.

Excellent!

So Max is a perfect weight, but what do Mother and Father do? Get him some special pouched food, just for him, to see if they can make him eat more.

Fucktards. No wonder I've always been a fucking fat bloater, being force fed like some sort of goose that ends up as pate.

Anway, Sonny has taken on the mantle of being a ginger cat in every sense of the word: he's a bloody off his head, mental, homicidal-psycho-jungle-cat. Sonny is 8 this year, just look at those claws of death:

These two felines were recruited by informed consent into an uncontrolled trial of the effects of Whiskas pouched cat food on mental ability ("can't be arsedness"). Remember, Max is fed the puched food and Sonny gets standard Felix and Costco brand dried cat food.

Let's see what happens when we try to tickle both of our participants with a magpie feather:

"Oooh, what's all this then?"

"Worth having a look at"

"C'mere, y'fucker!"

"Nyyyyyighhh! BASTARD!"

And when we try it out on Max?

See? His new poncy diet has addled his brain and he can't be arsed being a cat anymore. I think the packaging plant for the place has been infiltrated by the Avian league of friends and they've introduced a powerful neurotoxin into pussy pouches. Poor old Max! I wonder if you can tell that a cat's been brain damaged when he spends 23 hours a day sleeping??

Profile of a Cakesniffer

Anybody who's ever changed their Blogger profile pic will notice that previous images remain in comments, even after the photo has changed. Herge Smith suggested that a dedicated blogger might actually submit a series of comments on a blog, but change their profile pic to suit the mood of each comment.

What an excellent idea!

Following some earlier comments about my current photo, and taking on board Herge's suggestion, I locked myself away with my trusted digicam and came up with the following:

I tried to capture the full range of my facial expressions, but strangely enough, I managed to completely miss out on "gormless" (I mean really gormless). Actually, I think I only have three core facial expressions: annoyed; confused; gormless - I struggle to do "happy" because that usually ends up as gormless.

If anybody has any preference as to which one I use as my next profile pic, I'll happily take it on board. Fuck, that makes me sound really up my own arse. Soz.

Having pissed about in Photoshop to compile that little montage, I put my PC under considerable strain. Isn't the noise of a franticly whiring and clicking hard drive one of the most disconcerting and stress-inducing sounds in the entire world?

How to beat terrorism?

Fuck knows!

But you don't beat it by turning your country into a police state, eroding your citizens' freedoms, instilling paranoia or shooting the faces off innocent foreigners. You beat terrorism through effective intelligence, a trustworthy security and police service and by carrying on as normal. Will the British tradition of a cup of tea and a sit down help here?

Some peoples' attitudes to the execution of Jean Charles de Menezes at Stockwell Station are sickening. Carole Malone, a columnist writing in the Sunday Mirror (quality!), says: "Tragic... but gun cops were right There's no question that the death of Jean Charles de Menezes is a tragedy. But then so were the deaths of 56 innocent people on July 7".

Stop right there! How long will it take before there are more innocent people murdered by our own trigger-happy, twitchy coppers; how long before the death toll of those killed "in tragic police misunderstandings" equals that of the terrorist victims? (See also a very forthright appraisal of events by visiting Angry Chimp).

This country is close to, or may have already, lost it big time and it's all down to that fucking cock Blair, his pathetically inept cabinet and the government's reign of paranoia that they've been trying to force-feed us since the 11th of September attacks. This lot just don't cut it, never have, but they're very good at duping the British electorate and look at the state of the nation now.

The war in Iraq and the military action has been blamed for these attacks in London. I'm sure they haven't helped in people's attitudes towards the UK, but the west was being targetted by Islamic extremists before we went into Iraq with all guns blazing.

There's a lot of work to be done on the part of the Muslim communities in the UK, who, for one reason or another, are allowing young men to develop murderous attitudes against their own neighbours (developing murderous attitudes is abhorrent full stop). There is no excuse for blowing people up, none whatsoever, and it seems that the Islamic message of peace isn't getting through to some. Fuck it, I don't know. It just seems that some people living in largely Asian areas have no intention of accepting British values and they'd rather sneer at Western society than do something to be a part of it while maintaining their identity. I don't think this attitude has helped one bit and the British have been too soft and done too much to cow down to those who want to live in little Karachis than encourage them to embrace (or even accept) our culture and our way of life.

It's easy to go on the attack though, and the same can be said for the Brits abroad in countries like Australia and Spain, where they all live together in their own little parts of the cities or towns. I guess people want to stick with what's familiar to them and you can't blame them.

But observers can see what's happening in the UK in the microenvironment of this post: finger-pointing; blaming your neighbours; fear; division. All things the terrorists want are now happening and it has to stop.

People need to be vigilant, but it's very hard to see things clearly in a blind panic.

Sniffy Experimentals: Contact lens acid bath

Having already done a Lazarus on one of my dehydrated contact lenses, I thought it timely to show the world what happens when you put a contact lens into hydrogen peroxide solution:

Wow!

Yes, this is a revolution in contact lens technology for those wearers who suffer from "dry or sensitive" eyes: you soak your lenses in an acid bath for 6 hours and all's well with the world. Or at least you think it is, since you have to rely on commentary from your friends since you can no longer see after burning off your fucking corneas! I'm sorry, but I don't have much confidence in the product that advertises itself as being for "sensitive eyes" when it does this to the lenses as soon as they break the miniscus.

Apparently, the "six hour" soak is vital - my eyes were comfortable wearing the lenses after a good overnight soak - but a second less than the magic 21600 and you're blind!

And people say laser eye surgery looks dangerous.

Next up for Sniffy Experimentals: The razor challenge!

Honey, I shrunk the Cakesniffer!

Aka: Bored Cakesniffer in macro photo frenzy
Seeing that the passion flower had finally decided to produce some sexual organs after only 3 years of being sat there doing sod all, I decided to capture the moment with my trusty (and soon - if Amazon get their act together - to be superceded) digicam.

These flowers are mad; they've got to be the maddest flowers ever. Something to do with Jesus or something, so that probably explains it. Perhaps Michelle can enlighten us further, but it's something to do with 12 or 13 petals and 12 or 13 stamens and disciples and stuff like that.

Of course, while my camera was to hand, I decided to go stalking trickier subjects.

Any ideas what this is?

I now need to click on "Publish post" before Norton fucks this up. Bloody crap.

Little things...

Some people let the smallest things get to them. It's amazing how people get so irate just because something isn't working, or the traffic is bad, or Tesco aren't stocking minestrone cup-a-soups - A-FUCKING-GAIN! Of all the things in the modern world, folk don't half get pissed off with technology and specifically computers.

AND WHO CAN BLAME THEM?

Simple things: you turn them on, Windows starts (or Mac OS if you're stupid), your programs appear and you clicky and tappy away - thus producing lots of work, getting in touch with lots of people, buying things, finding out about stuff, or writing amusing and entertaining blogs that aren't appreciated nearly as much as they should be!

But there's always something that's not quite right, isn't there? You can't access Blogger because of ratings checks at work, the optical remote-controlled mouse sometimes loses it and sends the cursor flying about screen, the Microsoft Office Shortcut bar hasn't been installed so you have to use the programs menu instead. Lots of little things that niggle away.

Having recently installed Norton Internet Security on top of Zone Alarms (and I'm surprised I have any internet access after that), I'm suffering from being constantly plagued by:








Yes, fucking cookies, whatever they are, are doing my bastard head in. For some reason, Norton doesn't like the Blogger cookies, so I'm forever having to sign in all the time.

And because of the cookie thing, whatever that is, it won't show the quick edit button on posts. It really is driving this cakesniffer to distraction!





What would a normal person do in these circumstances? What are the options?

1. Read the help menus
2. Ask for some advice
3. If all else fails, just live with it or shut down one of the security packages or the offending features, etc...

My automatic reactions are to:

1. Bash the keyboard really hard and shout a lot
2. Chew fingers till they bleed
3. Delete all cookies and cached internet files
4. Delete Norton
5. Delete Zone Alarms
6. Reinstall Norton
7. Reinstall Zone Alarms
8. Arse about with the settings, rendering the machine unusable
9. Reformat hard disk
10. Buy new computer

I'm currently at the "shut down privacy settings in Norton" stage. We'll see how I get on.

Fucking waste of time shite. It'd be better served interacting with real people or reading.

Little Mr Pissy-Pants

This is my little cat. He's called Otto and he has special needs. I think that if cats are susceptible to attention deficit and hyperactivity disorder, then Otto has got it. When awake, he can't keep still and he get SO excited about things; even having a lie down is entertainment for him:

Something's got this little feller excited, but it doesn't take much.

When he gets VERY excited, he runs around the house, making kitten noises. He was doing this yesterday evening and when I went to investigate what was up, I saw a puddle of pussy pee on the kitchen floor. We have a litter tray for their night time toilets, but he'd got himself so excited that he complete missed and did his wee-wees on the floor instead.

Fucking retard.

At least he wasn't being chased by the shit monster.

But in a world where so much makes my blood boil, little Otto Tunasniffer is guaranteed to make laugh.

An outpouring of grief

Some people need to get a grip.

I remember stressing this last week when people around the country were holding hands and standing still for a couple of minutes to mark their respects for the victims of the London bomb blasts. Fair enough in London, fair enough in a memorial service, fair enough if you feel strongly about it.

The hoo-har about the attacks had only just subsided here at Base 2. Yes, they were attacks on our society, perpetrated by our own people, but I found it hard to believe that people with no connection could be so affected by something like that. A cynic would say that people enjoy playing the victim and jumping on the grief bandwagon, they enjoy the attention and the sympathy.

The hoo-har about the attacks had only just subsided when those incidents occurred in London yesterday. It’s not the fact that people think such things are newsworthy to pass on to their colleagues, it’s the way they impart the news as if telling folk that their entire family has been wiped out in a terrible road accident: “I’m afraid I’ve got some shocking and terrible news…” You wait for, “The police have just been in touch and I’m afraid that your entire family has been found dead after an acute attack of stephacockaliticus; a particularly virulent strain apparently”. But instead you’re told about something that you already know because EVERYBODY has the BBC News website open at work– totally disproportionate.

I am quite uncaring and unfeeling about things on a population-sized scale. I find it hard to get extremely upset about this sort of thing and tend to feel shock and inquisitiveness at the early stages after an incident. You feel sympathy for those injured and for the bereaved, of course you do. But grief? Grief is a special emotion that surely can only be truly felt for those who you love and know in person.

Anyway, back to the hoo-har…

You’ll be sat, merrily thinking of things to rant about in a blog when you’ll hear people in the adjacent office being told : “I’m afraid I’ve got some shocking and terrible news: there have been explosions in London”. You quickly switch windows to some document or e-mail you’re pretending to compose, and they appear around your doorway: “I don’t know if you’ve just heard that, but there have been explosions in London”.

“Oh right… and?”

It happened again yesterday and now again this morning, with the full rundown of some bloke being shot by armed police for leaving a bag somewhere and running away. He probably just had an attack of exploding diarrhoea.

Perhaps I’ve got this wrong. Perhaps my lack of distress at this sort of thing is something to be concerned about, but surely it’s much worse to pretend to care just to gain approval from people?

Pink

If a colour could cause a person to commit murder, the person would be me and the colour would be pink. I fucking detest it with a passion. It's not the colour itself that turns my stomach and makes my brain pop, it's what people do with it:

• Little girls in pink (aged about 4 to 10). Not just a nice pink skirt or jumper or top or something. No. It has to be the whole fucking ensemble: pink shoes, pink socks, pink corduroy dungarees or skirt, pink (frilly) top, pink cardigan, pink fucking hair ribbons, pink fairy wings and a dolly dressed in pink for good fucking measure. I could kill in an instant when I see this.

"Slap me"

"Slap me harder"

Check out so much more at E-fairies. No, I couldn't believe it either.

• Teenage slags in pink tracksuits. FUCK! NO! Wrestle their bottles of Lambrini from them, bundle the little bitches into the back of a van, take them to the local hospital and STERLILISE THEM!

• Pink babies. Look at this poor little git:

"Please call Social Services, I'm being horribly abused by my mental parents"

• Barbie. What a fucking waste of space. I never did get dolls, no idea what you're supposed to do with them - they're completely pointless. And a doll that's totally pink-clad? Fuck me!

AAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

At the shops - a reconstruction

This is clear and unashamed theft of Herge's excellent work to give a reconstruction of events at the shopping centre yesterday.

We all look at his stuff and get great amusement from it, but I never appreciated how much went into that stuff till I tried to edit just a few simple frames in Powerpoint - badly.

I'll stick to words and photos from now on and leave the good stuff to the experts.

Walking... r e a l l y s l o w l y

Why do some people walk r e a l l y s l o w l y? Especially alongside each other in narrow corridors where it's impossible to get past (passed?) them? And they don't just walk alongside each other, really slowly, thus filling the entire width of the passageway with their combined girth, they leave a tantalising gap between each other that invites you to have a go, only to close up as they hear you approaching.

Is it rude to "tsk" and "huff" really loudly behind them? Or is it better to just shove them out of the way into the path of an oncoming motorised invalid carriage? And who's the most inconsiderate, you for wanting to get some place at your natural pace, or them for blocking your way by dawdling, oblivious to all but their own selfish needs? Bastards.

Still that's hospitals for you: poorly people wandering around corridors, trying to get to their appointments.

A variant on this is the "multidirectional toddler", who wanders around willy-nilly a few metres from its incompetent guardians. Their next steps are totally unpredictable, but they seem to second-guess where you're about to aim for and wander to that exact spot to try to trip you up. Can you sue their parents if these menaces make you fall over and do yourself an injury?

Toddlers shouldn't really be allowed out until their about 18 years old I suppose.

The worst of the bunch is similar to "walking really slowly", only they come at you head-on and you have to negotiate a way through the unbudging, oncoming pack of complete and utter cocks who walk three or four abreast and force you into shop doorways rather than moving in a little bit to form a gap that allows you to pass. I'm going to start being really hard and aiming right at these fuckers, staring straight past them.

I'm sure my route round the shopping centre is about twice as long as it should be because I can't walk in a straight line since I'm constantly swirving out of the way of inconsiderate and ill-mannered tosspots.

It'd so different if I had a cattle prod.

Clap clinic Cakesniffer

I can't take any credit for this whatsoever, apart from the quote of course. Nosy bastards!

(It wasn't really a visit to the clap clinic, it just sounded like a good title)

A series of unfortunate events

After the embarrassment of bumping into people I knew while I was attending my hospital appointment yesterday, I didn't think things could get any worse. However, while at work today, I had the uncomfortable pleasure of being spotted leaving the GU Medicine clinic by the Outpatients Department Manager. Hay ho.

The bitmap of this is an animated cartoon. If you want to see it, e-mail me and I'll get it to you.

How DO they get away with it????

High street stores are cheeky fuckers. I've been looking out for a new camera and, having narrowed things down to two possibles, I hit the shops to see if I could have a look at the models side by side.

The Trafford Centre, near Manchester, is one of these massive shopping "malls" that has just about every major named store under its roof. Despite this, it's a bit of a shit-hole and is seemingly used more of a tourist attraction for visiting members of the extended families of Manchester's Asian community than a useful shopping centre since the shop units themselves are too small to hold any meaningful stock.

Anyway, Trafford Centre, big and massive, shops generally lots, but crap.

The only one of the two candidate cameras that was stocked anywhere in the entire centre was the Sony and the price ranged from £100 to £150 MORE than the thing is sold for by Amazon - this was at the Sony Centre and John Lewis, respectively. Cheeky fucking fuckers, how do they get away with selling stuff for up to 50% more than the cost online?

I was outraged and vowed never to buy anything from a real shop ever again, thus enabling me to fulfil my destiny of becoming a hermit.

I also seem to be lacking in creativity at the moment. I need to incubate some ideas...

Falling apart

You work four years in a hospital and you never meet anybody that you know. You go there for an appointment and you bump into two folk. After the usual niceties, the inevitable question, "So, what are you here for?"

"None of your fucking business, now piss off. And you tell a soul that you've seen me? I'll burn your fucking house down!"

After a traumatic visit to th'ospital, I was overcome with fatigue and spent the evening collapsed on a friend's sofa. Feeling pretty shit, under the weather and not at my best as I apprach my mid-thirties, I think I might need a "pick-me-up". Here's some womanly advice from Frankly feminine...

The woman who wants the best all worlds knows the importance of the right food. She knows that good health, tireless energy, a perfect skin and a lissom figure can all be the result of eating food in the right quantities.

A thoroughly balanced diet with just the right amounts of vitamins, minerals, bulk, fat, proteins and carbohydrates is the first step to vitality, and so the first step to beauty. [So curry two nights on the run is a definite no-no then?]

I'll skip the bits about "Strength from proteins", "Warmth from fats" and "Energy from carbohydrates" and get straight to:

The vital vitamins
"...A good, well-balanced diet will provide all the vitamins needed for health and beauty.

Vitamin A is for glamour. We say this because it is the vitamin which gives a smoth, glowing skin and bright, sparkling eyes. It is also an important vitamin medically, for it helps to fight colds, flu and bronchitis as well as chatarrh and night-blindness.

Vitamin B is a fatigue fighter. It helps to relieve nervous tension, certain types of neuralgia and rheumaticky pains. It also gives you extra vitality.

Vitamin C is an infection fighter. It is also a booster for clear, smooth skin.

And last, but not least..

Vitamin D is for brightness and dazzle. It makes your teeth gleam, hair healthy and bones strong but supple, so it s a must for growing children as well as for mothers to be. You will find it in salmon, cod liver and halibut liver oil, fish, dairy, blah, blah, mushroom??... blah, blah, and - delightfully - in sunshine.

So there you go. I'd have loved to have put those answers down in my biology and biochemistry exams as a student.

Q24 Describe the properties and biochemical pathways involving vitamin D.

A Vitamin D can be obtained from a number of dietary inputs, but it is delightful to note that an important source is Mr Sunshine. Vitamin D interacts with a number of genetically-related receptors whereby stimulation results in activation of calmodulin and in a Ca2+ cascade in the cytoplasm... nuclear receptors and shit like that. The overall result of Vitamin D stimulation of its receptor upregulation of systemic brightness and dazzle factors.

I think I can conclude that working too much, eating the wrong things, not getting enough sleep or exercise and reaching your mid-thirties can definitely result in significant loss of brightness and dazzle.

Click

MAKEPOVERTYHISTORY

Why the devil not? Where it'll do some good, write off that debt, give people a fair chance, help folk to help themselves. Oh, and I'm serious about that.

The Make Poverty History campaign combines the might of all the world's major charities that deal with famine-ravished, disaster-hit and war-torn areas of the globe. It has produced some pretty slick advertising, and also some shit fronted by Bono and Geldof that turns my stomach. Nonetheless, no right minded person can have an argument with the sentiment of those publicity campaigns, the most thought-provoking one being the "click" advert. This ad featured a number of global stars, but the imagery and message is simple: every three seconds, a child will die as the result of extreme poverty, "click". This and the other ads in the campaign can be viewed at the Make Poverty History website (www.makepovertyhistory.org) as Macromedia Flash files.

I took a screen shot of the "click" ad last night, and look who happened to be on at that split second:

It had to be him!

Anyway, looking at this campaign, fronted by stars of stage and screen such as George Clooney, Bradley Pitts, Liam Neeson, Kylie, Hugh Grant, Kate Moss, Justin Timberlake and his bit, Cameron Diaz and her bit... it makes you think what sort of impact exactly the same campaign would have if they called on the stars of the UK big (and small) screen. Who could we have? Let's think (and I apologise to those who aren't familiar with UK "stars"). OK, let's go:

David"Del BoyJason

DameJudiDench

Davina"thescreamer"McCall

StephenfuckingFry

Hughbastard Lawrie

Tiger Tim Henman

Cliff "How much publicity will I get?" Richard

Billy FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING Connolly

Who else? Mercifully, I don't watch too much TV, so I don't know who any of these shitheads are anymore.

Third World debt
Personal debt is shit. It can get out of control and is the cause of much upset and worry for many people. The problems mount and can escalate to such an extent that the affected person feels like their carrying the debt of a Third World country. In many respects, the prospects of clearing their debt are about the same.

This country has a thriving economy that is based on people being in huge amounts of debt, this is reflected in the success of the finance sector. It is also reflected in the continuous ads for loans and stuff and Garfer has some interesting points to make about these finance companies over at Tunnock's Teacakes.

I was excited to receive some post today. I received a replacement pair of Tweezerman tweezers for the ones that I thought my parents had mistakenly thrown away: this new set cost me £15 and the old ones turned up the following day. I also got some marketing shite from Liverpool Football Club store, advertising the new snazzy away strip. And last, but by no means not least, I received an invitation to apply for a credit card from a company called "aqua". This is their sales pitch:"We believe that everyone should have the chance to carry a credit card. Go fish for... Sensible credit limits Typical 32.9%APR variable." Sensible? How the fuck do they get that?

Fuck off you fucking thieving cunts. Taking advantage of poor folk who are desperate for some credit. These shits should be closed down. And let's see who they're owned by.... Halifax Bank of Scotland.

Bastard shitting banks can go shit off, the shitting shitters.

Blue

Blue is a colour that's used to describe quite a few things: you can be "feeling a bit blue"; watching a "bluey"; and something might actually be blue in colour as in Trois couleurs, bleu.

So what about blue tooth?

Bluetooth.
What the fuck is all that about? What would the term "Bluetooth" convey if you'd never heard of it in connection with anything else? Probably rotten dental work. Gone-off amalgam fillings, that sort of thing. It certainly wouldn't provoke thoughts of reliable, secure, wireless communication. And in fact, Bluetooth is none of those things!

Fucking shite. Having numerous experiences of bluetooth mobile phone headset troubles, I encountered another difficulty with this shit technology this evening transferring files between phones. Stupid thing kept killing my phone half way through a transfer. Bloody rubbish.

Could be my phone I suppose. Any excuse for an upgrade.

I wonder what people wrote whinging blogs about before there was any technology? Plague and pestilence, death in childbirth, dried eggs and rationing, invading armies of Vikings or Romans or the French - oh silly me, the French never actually did that well did they? Actually if you do a Google search for "French military victories" and hit "I'm feeling lucky", you get a great result:


You do this search at work and the IT Nazi Bastard Police block the page and log that you've tried to access it. Yeah, like it's on a par with hardcore kiddie fiddling porn, isn't it?

Harry Potter is getting quite good btw.

Superfly guy, let me take you...

...to the bin

Summer is lovely. The UK has been having an unprecedented period of decent weather for most of July; it's been over 20°C most days, over about 25°C in fact.

Lovely.

However, just like all times of year, the summer has its downsides, they just seem to be more extreme. On the whole, the number of irritants is a lot higher in summer than in any other season. There's a wide range of summertime irritants; for a review see Summer madness, but the worst of the bunch has got to be: The housefly, or bluebottle as they're sometimes called.

These bastards get into your house as soon as you open a door or window, then they perpetually fly around, backwards and forwards as if high on booze AND speed, all fucking day. It's particularly annoying when they pretend that they're trying to find an exit and they bash themselves against the window for half an hour or so: bzzzztap, bzzzzzzzzTAPTAPTAP.

There's no point to them, they're filthy and they annoy the hell out of every other living creature on the planet. Here's Sonny in hot pursuit of one in my bedroom last night:

Pussy with a purpose: just look at that determined expression

Anyway, cats are pretty useless as flycatcher generals and they just tend to take the odd swipe at the buzz-bombs after pursuing them with their concentrated gaze. Cats also do that "ack, ack, ack" thing when watching their quarry; it must help the concentration. Or perhaps it's like some sort of yogic mantra that helps them reach the higher state of conciousness required for giving up on the chase and having a bowl of Felix instead.

So Sonny gave up on the fly when he heard activity in the kitchen (can't blame him really), leaving me to deal with the pestilent presence in my room. Having almost given up hope of getting the fucker, I seized my opportunity when the foolish insect landed between the folds of my curtains. BLAM! Gotcha. And I did, I got the bastard:

BLAM!

Unfortunately, the shot is a bit too bright to fully appreciate how the insides of this monster are spread across the tissue.

I liked this one too:

GOTCHA!

It was a bit spooky and upsetting when, despite having its innards forced out, the thing started moving, you can see that the front legs are in different positions in the two shots - this could've been something to do with the heat of the bedside lamp. But I actually felt sorry for it and gave it a final squish to make sure it was dead.

I bet Blogworld can't wait till I get my NEW camera that has a super macro mode with a 0cm focal length. That's right! I'll be able to take photos of things that are actually on the lens. I love Canon.

Things that irritate me... about myself

People get annoyed with others and with their environments and their lives because it's often easier to express anger at a third party than it is to continually admonish themselves. It's probably safer that way too; it's not good to look inwardly and be self-critical. Not all the time anyway.

If I had a post on "things that irritate me" full stop, we'd be here forever. In fact, this whole blog is heavily weighted towards the things that send my blood pressure through the roof, so there's no point in trying to fit it all in here. There are some things that I do, some things about me - they physical me - that really piss me off. Here are some of them:

• Low self confidence. I am good at most things that I do and I'm very clever, but I display remarkable lack of self confidence at times. I think this is because I'm too lazy to tell people how good I am and I expect them to do it for me.
• Physical crapness. After years of not looking after myself, now that I want to I can't because my body keeps failing on me. Last week was my knee, today is my hip that has gone for no reason whatsoever.
• Leaving the tap running while brushing my teeth.
• Chewing the dry skin around my fingernails and making them bleed.
• Terrible temper.
• Not being bothered with people. I'm a bit of a misenthrope actually. Can you be a "bit" of a misenthrope? Hrrm, I hate most people, so I suppose you can. I don't have much time for many of the people in my life
• Strange toilet habits
• Strange eating habits
• Crap with money
• Crap dress sense
• Rubbish eyesight
• Crooked teeth
• Bad
• Bad
• Bad

Oh God, this is getting terrible. I'd better stop before I take an overdose. Mmmmm, codeine!

Here are some sunsets to cheer me up.