Reading through old emails can be confusing

More often than not they follow a predictable pattern. Any email headers from my wildly unimaginative brother fit into one of the three following categories: a) You love (insert name of someone foul) b) You want to (insert verb of foulness to someone foul) c) You are dumb.

However, on unearthing a phrase attributed to myself I was thrown into momentary perturbation "I was fondly thinking of Mr Featherbottom the other day!"

Mr Featherbottom?

What, and who, on Earth was I on about?

Finally, I remembered, and wondered how I could have ever forgotten. Aaaaahaa....the worker at the 7-11 under my old appartment that used to store his feather duster in the back pocket of his work pants and glare at me as I smirked at him and called him "Mr Featherbottom" every time I went into the shop.

Disguising smells

The smell of poo is not good. Neither, however, are the smells people produce to try and cover up said pong. Some people light matches: shit on fire- great window-dressing that one!

A few days ago I was introduced to the concept of concentrated orange essence and shit. Apparently, it "eliminates unwanted odors naturally" apart from it doesn`t. It just fills the upper stories of the house with the fragrance of orangey dung. All I could think of was a Terry`s Chocolate Orange covered in turd. I`m put off of whacking and unwrapping for life.

Stupid Euphemism of the Day

Being a chatterbox: having a larger lexical budget.

Oh well, at least it's been proved that men are just as prone to lexical expenditure as women. How dull must it be to associate with the 500 words grunter!

Women are not chatterboxes, scientists have found, putting pay to the age old myth that the fairer sex is prone to rabbiting on.

A study carried out over six years by US researchers found there is no significant difference in the number of words spoken by each sex on a daily basis.

Matthias Mehl, an assistant professor of psychology at the University of Arizona said he and his colleagues had set out to challenge the urban myth.

They recorded the conversations of nearly 400 US and Mexican male and female university students using a specially-developed electronically-activated recorder.

It found women spoke a daily average of 16,215 words compared to an average 15,699 words for men. The most talkative man used 47,000 words in a day while the least chose his words carefully and only said 500.

Professor Mehl concluded that the study showed no support for the idea that women have a larger "lexical budget" than men.

RIP fags in public places

A last gasp of defiance - and now the ban

Finally, the 73% of English who don't smoke have the chance to go to the pub and come home without reeking hair and clothes and lungs being passively eroded.

Sod the "Nanny State" accusation. Not only is it a Daily Mail reader, simpering, cliche, but, as far as I see it, if people are too stupid to refrain from poisoning themselves, being coddled should be the least of their worries.

Actually, I don't care about them poisoning themselves, but I do care about them giving me cancer and then dressing this up as a "right" and moaning about "discrimination" . You don't care who you kill with your addiction, so why should I care about you having to wait until you get home to suck on your little stick.

So the government is only acting now because the health care costs are finally outstripping the tax that they have been wrenching from the nicotine dependent for decades? Sounds like good business sense too me.

(Spoken like a true ex-smoker, I feel!)

http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk_news/story/0,,2116154,00.html

"By 10pm, the air inside was thick with the kind of smoke that takes two shampoos to wash out."
(Methinks the author is a woman!)

"As the ban came into force - heralding what campaigners call the biggest boost to public health since the creation of the NHS - market researchers Nielsen estimated that beer sales at pubs, bars and clubs could drop by 200m pints a year. The volume of all drinks sold by licensed premises in Scotland is down 5% following the ban in 2006." (But surely, as the average smoking drinker won't be dropping into an emphysematic grave in his/her 50's, the long-term sales will more than make up for it.)

"...Bob Beech of the Wellington Arms in Southampton, who tried (and failed) to get his pub declared the embassy for the uninhabited Caribbean island of Redonda so it would be exempt."(Very resourceful, but it doesn't make him any less of a knob.)


"Yesterday afternoon, however, more than an hour after opening, not one punter had been through the Edinburgh Cellars' door. "We're always quiet on a Sunday afternoon because we don't serve food yet," said Mr Boulind. "But there are usually six or seven old boys in by now for a pint and they all smoke. They've been moaning about the ban for weeks."(Good. Less moany old codgers interrupting your pint is very welcome!)

"Elsewhere, some tobacco lovers refused to stay at home quietly. By noon yesterday more than 100 smokers had flocked to the Swan in Bolton for a "mass light-up". Landlord Nick Hogan said: "We are making a peaceful protest at a piece of legislation that is discriminatory." (Twats.)

Other People's children

What's wrong with the above photo? There's food, booze, some friends suffering somewhat as the end of the night approaches....and there is a three year old who has more energy than the rest of us put together and who refuses to join her one year old brother and go to beddy-byes.

I appreciate that you can't always get a baby sitter; I understand that when faced with the "it's all of us or none of us" situation that having the whole gang turn out is preferable, but every time?

In the last year or so, I've been to three parties, a camping trip, a restaurant, a festival and a market with the little lady above. We've become good friends: on the camping trip her first words on waking were "Where is Rebecca?" Ooooh it warms the cockles but I miss her daddy. Her daddy is a good friend of mine, but I can't remember the last time we had a decent conversation that wasn't interrupted by feeding/watering/nose wiping/toilet going/plaster applying etc.

You too can pay 25 Grand to live in a hole!

I have a little pipe dream that one day, I might be able to afford a cute little flat in the UK. Maybe near the ocean. If the housing boom hadn't happened I could have bought one outright, but it has and I doubt if I'd even qualify for a mortgage for a shed in Mile End.

Fear not, for the snippet of 25,000 I can have the "rare opportunity" of purchasing a multiple cave dwelling that was originally gouged by homeless people in the 1700's!

"Rare opportunity" in estate agent speak means no one else is desperate or dumb enough to contemplate this abode. Just think, I can daub the walls with ochre, whilst waiting for lightning to strike and start my fire, as I fantasize about mammoth ribs.

"Property hunters will be given a "rare opportunity" to get back to nature next week when a cave home goes up for auction.

The aptly named Rock Cottage, hewn out of a sandstone cliff in Worcestershire, western England, is one of 50 that were built in the area in the late 18th century.

The unusual property, which lacks running water, electricity or a toilet and has not been occupied since the late 1940s, is expected to fetch bids of up to 25,000 pounds.

Auctioneer Daniel Lovatt, of Halls Estate Agents in Kidderminster, said the sale offered a "unique opportunity".

"How many people can say they own a cave home?" he added, though he admitted that it was unlikely to be deemed habitable by the council.

The home, despite lacking modern amenities, boasts a front door, windows and fireplaces as well as a pantry, sitting room and a bedroom.

The property also comes with three adjoining caves and includes nearly five acres of mixed woodland and garden land."

http://uk.news.yahoo.com/afp/20070702/tod-britain-housing-offbeat-6058bda.html

Not ready to be a silver fox

Not many people can guess my age. In fact, probably 95% manage to shave 20-25% off the course of my life. Of course, that's a good thing isn't it? Well, sometimes it is:who wants to be thought of as "old"? But at the same time, who wants to be patronised by people the same age or just a couple of years older? A few years back I sat through a lecture by someone (3-4 years younger than me) on how I would feel as I approached thirty. I listened to the reams of liquid turd spieling forth before informing him of my actual age and that his observations were quite far off the mark. Had he literally been blabbering excrement there would have been a rather unpleasant pool of it on the carpet, such was gape in his face.

It finally happened two weeks ago.

I have been observing, with no mild horror, the advancement of white upon my pate for 3-4 years. Sometimes last year it dawned on me that, unless I wanted several bald patches, I had best stop pulling out the annoying buggers as soon as they reared their twisty, course, periscopic selves. In addition, I decided that I had to endure their growth to a suitable length as I might be able to disguise them if they were long enough to lie down flat instead of standing to 90 degree attention.

I was waiting somewhat apprehensively as the day was sure to arrive.

"You"re getting paranoid" I told myself. The reason: some of the little gits at school would happily comment upon my ghostly fleece if it was really that visible.

Then it happened.

Not even from a git, but from a rather sweet girl, as I bent over to help her with her work, "Oh, she has lots of white hair" she observed, as much to herself as anyone else. My over-reaction ensured that the rest of the class spent the next hour trying to get a look.

"It was a one-off" I tried to tell myself. One week later another class, another (somewhat more spitefully this time) acknowledgement.

And today, yes today my woe has been a thousand times compounded........the appearance of my first white pube...........