Dairy of a mad man

Of course, the good thing about soya milk is that you don't tend to get herds of soya beans breaking through a fence and grazing on the hard shoulder of the motorway in morning rush hour, thus forcing the closure of the road while police ensure the safe return of the wayward legumes to their rightful place in the field.

Given the choice between grazing in a nice safe BIG field of grass or a narrow and very scary motorway hard shoulder (with huge trucks and cars flying past in excess of 70mph), what thought processes might be involved in three cows and a bull who take the latter option? Perhaps it was a publicity stunt, a cry for help to highlight the plight of those dairy beasts who are being shunned in favour of soya alternatives. Next thing we'll be having is a real-life Cow Parade in our major cities: Heifers for justice, conducting a series of high profile stunts to raise dairy awareness. I can't wait to see one climb the Houses of Parliament.

They'll be in a city near you. Think on and look sharp!


Papering the cracks
Cosmetics can only cover up the bits where a person starts to fall apart. With sufficient resources, I'd be down to my local cosmetic surgery clinic for all over body sculpture and my eye bags reducing. The excess bits could make a whole other person - probably one who is more than capable of keeping her blog up to date.

Unfortunately I don't have the cash to go under the knife, so I'm resorting to stuff you can buy in Tesco (no, they haven't started a cosmetic surgery service yet, but after the flower fiasco, I don't think I'd bother if they did thankyouverymuch). I am currently trying "Dove Summer Glow" body moisturiser to make me look like an Umpa Lumpa in time for my trip to Canada, and also something from L'Oreal to fill in my frown lines. I don't know what it's called, but you can feel little microbeads popping on your face as you apply it... and then your skin really starts to burn. I think the idea is that people will be more worried about the appearance of blisters than fine lines.

It's great to know I'm worth it.


Wheelchair It's a Knockout Dodgem Smackdown
I went to the shopping centre over lunchtime. While I was there, I was amused to see a rather interesting stand-off between three motorised invalid scooters and a wheelchair. They'd somehow come together and got themeselves entangled. None of them were backing down though; there was NO WAY any of them was going to engage reverse: "I'm disabled you know!" were their cries of protest. "I'm older and I'm not motorised!", "Mine's a bariatric scooter - I'll kick your arse with this baby!"

A congestion charge for wheeled-users of public areas? Bring it on!


Eating
Cynthia was eating her lunch when I went into the kitchen to reconstitute my Cup-a-Soup. She was loitering near the sink so I couldn't avoid her as she ate what smelled like fish paste from a little glass jar by maniacally scraping a spoon - even after she had finished. I was also given the pleasure of her talking while she was eating; she was interrogating me about Canada and smacking her lips. I hate hearing the sound of people eating, it really does drive me mad.


Ozzy Osbourne
I used to really be in to Ozzy Osbourne and Black Sabbath when I was a youngster. I enjoyed being in a very black mood - or at least looking like I was. Diary of a Madman was one of Ozzy's finest albums; I played it to death.