Random acts shape people's perceptions of you/A lesson in being less judgemental (like that is ever going to happen!)

After stuffing ourselves silly on Turkish, off we trotted to an izakaya for cheap beer.

Midway through the drink order, the young waitress asked my colleague if she worked for a certain college. Nobi confirmed that she did and asked the girl if she remembered me. I was busy saying, probably not, I didn't teach that course, I left two years ago etc when Missy pipes up "I remember you being angry!" I was thinking, "H'mmmm...my reputation spread to students that I didn't even teach!" when she jogged my memory "You ran into my classroom chasing a boy who had said bad words to you". The horror came flooding back in a Bloody Mary haze of shame: some really annoying pseudo hip hop kids were blocking every one's way outside the elevator. I told them to go to class as the bell had already rung and was greeted by something along the lines of "Fuck you!" At which point I chased said whippersnapper and barged into his classroom yelling at him as poor old Tauchi-sensei looked on bewildered! Mt T enquired "Ahhh Lebecc, eh iz zer somesing long?" He was unable to make head nor tails of my "Rah rah rah rah, that little git rah rah rah, how dare he rah rah rah" rant so off I went.

Later Mr T came to apologise and offered by way of explanation the strange hypothesis that they had heard those words in songs and didn't understand the true meaning. I called "Bullshit" on that attempt to get away with it!

Nostalgic thoughts and blushes were ended when she offered to serve us a free drink. She then asked me if I could remember Mari-chan? Of course! Did I know that she had moved to Okinawa with her 30 something husband and 6 month old kid? Er, no I didn't!

Mari's future seemed written on the wall after she had told me she thought she was pregnant and what should she do. A false alarm and big lecture on the use of condoms later, after I quit the job, I heard she was sporting dungarees and an ever expanding waistline.

The waitress seemed like a nice girl, but I couldn't help but remark that she was, well, a waitress, and that that was the future that awaited most of the students after they graduated with their useless diploma from that college and hadn't she said she was on the University Transfer course?

Bill paid; Mari's email address proffered; enquiry as to how long she had been working there asked and answered: only during the holidays as she is studying English, Spanish and American Studies at Kyoto University!

Apparently this is what I look like to 15 year old Japanese girls

I especially like how I have been "Japanisized" in the one of them!

I reckon Hilary is going to pull it off!

Come on Hilary or I'll have to face up to the responsibilities of my wager and buy my colleague lunch!

There has been a very slight movement, but still only a ripple, of negativity in the US press. The New York Times has tittered politely that Obama gets clapped for blowing his nose (wtf?)and YouTube has a video of a string of identical performances (yet again) by the man calming down a crowd when an over enthusiastic fan faints:
Obama: Er..get the girl a drink of water. Make some space down there!
Crowd: Whoop! Yeah!
Obama: Make some space down there. Get the girl a drink!
Crowd: Whoop! Right on! Go on give us another nose blow! Double Whoop!

The whole Cult of Personality thing that is surrounding him is really scary and I find the lack of discussion about it quite unnerving.

Why is no one demanding that he, too, offer universal health care? After all, that would surely bring about the "changes" he keeps promising. Why was there only a mild
criticism (almost apologetically issued) about the whole "Barack Hussein Obama is a Muslim" slur? Why was he calling it a slur instead of using it as a change to start the "healing" he touts? Surely, citing religious bigotry would be the nobler move than to almost join in with the photo opportunists in his great haste to share his Christian credentials.

Of course he had Texas in front of him and high moral character won't bring in votes in Rednecksville. But those changes he promises? What a chance missed to start bringing them about? Those changes that his candidacy is based on. What changes are they again?

You can see how eight years of Bush would lead the poor bastards to embrace anyone with charisma, intelligence and, well, the ability to string a sentence together for one thing and Obama has them in abundance. But what is he ACTUALLY planning to do? It seems that the syncopic hordes don't care!

Obama won't become president

I can feel it. I thought it was in my water, but it may be from the over-zealousness of the American public to convince that they are not, in fact racist, and are ready, actually more than ready, come to think of it over-flowing with propensity for a black president.

Me? I just find him flaccid.

Is France a country?

A few years ago I asked a bunch of Japanese college student what the capital of South Korea was. After an expanse of seconds filled with the usual grunts of "dunno" and the sound of my despair bouncing around the room "It's your neighbouring country fer gawd's sake! How can you not know?" I finally selected one of my favourites, the lumburing mass of sportswear and gormlessness that was Kubo-chan: "Come on Kubo-chan! I'll give you a hint, it begins with an 'S' what is it?" After a stratch of his limp barnet and a short intake of breath sucked in between his teeth the Kubster ventured forth with "H'mmmm, now I know it's not Sydney...."

I've found reams of Japanese teenagers that profer the following ludicrous suggestions to the not exactly a brainteaser: Where is Mount Everest?

Japan? France? New Zealand? London? Paris? Africa? Spain?

Now, there is not the excuse that they haven't understood the English as there is always someone saying the Japanese name and confirming that is the tallest moutain in the world. OK, hint time: it's in Asia.

Italy? Brazil?

"Brazil and Italy are not in Asia, are they? What are some countries in Asia?

Chicago? New York? Iceland?

You wonder if it would be possible that British teenagers couldn't tell you the capital of France or the currency used on the continent. Nah, course not, we couldn't possible be that dumb you conclude. That sort of ignorance is surely only found in the classrooms of Japan and the streets of 'Merica. With horror you discover that low and behold, denser than denser than dense people do exist in your own country! Can it be true? Do British people also think Mount Everest is in the UK?

"Asked how many countries there were in the world, only a third were correct in choosing 193. A third of people thought Mount Everest was either in the Alps or the UK - it is in Nepal - and only half of respondents knew that the Nile was the world's longest river." http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk_news/story/0,,2210433,00.html

Gyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

Time to get back to laughing at Stoopid Americans I guess.

I may be in love with Charlie Brooker

Well, not with his voice and not particularly with his face, but at least with the version of him that I can read in the Guardian. In person, I'm sure he could be really annoying, a smart-arse who is constantly providing some acerbic put down or unwelcome, smug little postscript to another's comment. H'mmm I've started to go off of him already, better re-read his fears of activity holidays:

"There are other options, of course. Activity holidays for one, although the idea fills me with revulsion. I don't want to go trekking with a bunch of disgusting strangers. What if a really annoying jabbering, bearded bloke latches on to me on the first day and decides I'm his best mate and won't leave me alone, and I'm stuck with him in some Arizonian wilderness and the sun's beating down and he's talking and talking and farting for comic effect and eating sandwiches and walking around with egg mayonnaise round his mouth until I want to grab the nearest rock and stove his skull in, and carry on smashing and smashing and roaring at the sky until the others dash over to pull me off him, but by then I've gone totally feral and start coming at them with the rock, which by now is all matted with gore and brain and beard hair, and I manage to clock one of them hard in the temple and they're flat on the ground, limbs jerking like an electrocuted dog, but as I swing for the next one some self-appointed hero rugby-tackles me, but I'm still putting up a fight so in desperation they all stamp on my neck until they're certain I'm dead, then throw my body in the river and make a lifelong pact to tell no one the truth of what happened that day? What sort of holiday is that?"

Ahhhhhhhhhhh...it's love once more.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/Columnists/Column/0,,2205346,00.html

The foulest item of clothing I've ever seen

Crocs are inherently foul, but what they hell is going on with this "snuggly" version?
Not content with looking like a gimp in warmer climes, are people really prepared to look like Ronald McDonald's Alaskan cousin during the winter months?

Ho HO HO

A 2001 UK poll found that 71.6% of the UK consider themselves Christian, 15.5% ticked "No Religion" and 7.3% refused to answer.

I'm pretty sure that the majority of the Christians only nominally consider themselves so in matters of birth, marriage and death (the so-called "hatches, matches and dispatches")and rarely step foot in a church outside of those occasions (lack of taxis, excess alcoholic fuel, a nostalgia for tea clothed figures from childhood and the lure of warmth on a cold December 24th notwithstanding).

That leaves around 6% of the population that could, apparently, be insulted or threatened or offended by the UK's continuing celebration of the birth of Christ, annual piss-up, fight with the in-laws, inappropriate acts at the office party, a much needed week off or whatever it means to people who do acknowledge it in one form or another. "Christmas should be downgraded unless other religious festivals are marked on an even footing, a Government think-tank has said."

At the risk of offending active Christians, oh for Christ's sake!

According to japan-guide.com "Less than 2% of the Japanese are Christians, and Christmas is not a national holiday. Nevertheless, the popularity of Christmas is growing in Japan especially among young female Japanese."

If I were a Daily Mail reader I might complain that the world has gone mad.

If it weren't for Daily Mail readers, I might be prepared to believe it.

Dropping like flies

Turning the corner makes no difference if there is always another corner to turn up ahead.

It is a weird thing to be checking your emails to see if someone has dropped dead yet. I guess it's the current version of hovering over the phone (and I don't do phones!)

An, occasionally, wise person once told me that you never get over it, you get used to it: how could any one be expected to "get over" watching someone that you would give one, both arms, to save slowly waste away before you.

The false alarms: you are told to expect the end to come in the next few days only to find her up and about the following morning polishing!

The inability to climb the stairs and eventual confinement to bed: serene initially and then the hell of trying to drag a dead weight onto the portable toilet as the nurses aren't due for another few hours.

The call out for the Locum in the early hours:just quell the cries for it all to end with morphine please!

The ridiculous things you find yourself doing: err...painting the whole house, removing and buying four new bedroom doors and trying to get them fixed in place "before it's too late" (what on earth was that about?!)

The irritation caused by citric acid: the discovery that it is in everything. You've never read that many labels or spent so long in the soft drink aisle before!

The weird things non-family members do that you feel powerless to stop: painting the nails of someone who has never painted their nails and only has long nails as she is confined to bed! Turning up and asking to pray with the sick as "I had a dream about her last night and God asked me to visit." And I asked Jesus for strength!

The constant and strange requests: where the hell am I going to find that flavour ice-cream at this time of day? The frantic search for the ice-cream: anything, if only you'll start eating again and I can kid myself that you can somehow get well.

You wishing that it'll all end then feeling guilty as hell as you know that you want your own suffering to stop as much as hers.

The non-comedy comedy moments: your father talking to the cat as her breathing finally ended; her getting stuck on a tight corner on the way out on the stretcher; the outrageous death pose impression done by your younger brother:one that you almost did yourself, but thought that would make you a very sick person!

The silence after the event: how you now miss that once irritating stream of visitors and nurses.

The friends who never called: you figure out they were never really friends.

Some people's weird idea of sympathy: "I had a dog that died once."

The family squabbles: everyone deals with it in their own way but is incapable of looking outside of their own grief.

Being told how wonderful the dead person was: is that supposed to make the loss more bearable?

The weird things those in the trade say: "How pretty she is?" How can a corpse be pretty, exactly? (Necrophilia notwithstanding!)

You can't turn the corner as there has been a stream of them and it's almost one more down, two more to go.

People say how it seems like a long time ago now. Not to me. It will always be closer than yesterday.

Don't blame the tourists

With the military in Myanmar having already killed (at least?) 200 peaceful demonstrators, the "to go, or not to go" question has been raised again.

I find it odd that travel to Myanmar provokes the most standing on soapboxes, emotive responses, accusations of naivety, and middle-class finger pointing than, say, a journey to Cuba, Zimbabwe, China, Israel or any other nation, whose population is subject to tyrannical control, human rights abuses or responsible for atrocities against other countries.

Have people been boycotting the US as a natural follow up to the millions on the streets of London pre the Iraq war? Last time I looked half of the UK seemed to be planning a 2 for 1 spending spree in NY!

Inflation at 6600% in Zimbabwe, opposition members routinely arrested and elections rigged:yet questions abound on the Stupid Planet website about the availability of drivers due to the fuel shortage!

China executes far more death row inmates a year than the rest of the world combined (albeit following a strict "Where to fire bullet" procedure so as not to damage organs for transplant and collagen to fill those Westerners' wrinkles). It won't even criticise the junta as it competes to tap Myanmar's energy resources with India - yet it is rewarded with the 2008 Olympics!

Thai officials are complacent in (and customers of)the 20,000 or so Burmese girls trafficked into brothels and sent home (if they are lucky) with HIV, yet it is the most targeted tourist destination in Asia.

Oil, gas, timber, jade....until companies such as Mitsui, Petronas, Texaco, Daewoo, Chevron and Siemens develop a conscience (err, that would be never) the tourists traipsing in can't make it worse.

The other irony of the Western idea of boycotting the country as a destination is that over 50% of the tourists are from Asia. Wealthy Asian tourists like their hotels to be 3*** or more, their transport to be air-conditioned, their day to be scripted and assisted with guides: just the type of tourist who is accused of contributing to the wealth of the junta.

The sort of Westerner who does boycott the country still refers to it as "Burma" (the coloniser's name) and, sucking on a spliff rolled from the herb tended by a youngster trafficked into their own country, pulling on their 33p/hour TopShop/H&M/Primark top,
feels all warm and fuzzy about their ethical stance.

I don't understand this at all. What on earth is the connection between being a vegetarian and taking all your clothes off? Is that what it means? Vegetarian: a person who removes all outer layers, prostrates provocatively and then gets heavily photo shopped.

I've been doing it wrong all these years.

Emails you don't want to receive #2

You meet Japan's most boring female for a trial lesson: is in her fifties; still lives at home; works in a museum; can't move to another part of Japan as her father doesn't approve (?!) keeps eight birds in her bedroom.

After 40 minutes you are about to slit your wrists and can't think how to keep the (non-existent) conversation going for another 20 minutes:
"So, have you been abroad?"
"Yes."
""Where have you been?"
"Australia."
"What did you do there?"
"I went sight-seeing?"
"What did you see?"
"Opera House and so on."
"What cultural differences did you notice?"
"Kangaroo"
"I've been to Australia"
"Oh, really."
"Yes, it was 10 years ago."
-
"Er, I enjoyed it."
-
"Er...usually, to make a conversation in English (conversation in ANY language involves speaking you duller than dreary than tedious than mindless than lackluster Dumpfbacke) you usually reply to someone to show that you are interested in what they are saying. Maybe you could ask me a question about my Australia trip or anything else you want to know about me."
"I see. Do you like Australia?"
"Well, that is a big question, what part of 'Australia' do you mean? For example, the people, the culture, the weather, the food...."
"The food."
"Well, there are lots of immigrant in Australia, so the Thai curry was good."
"I see."

Assuming it was as painful for her as it was for me (the worst trial lesson in 7 years!) I give her the opt out Japan stylee and said that I'd email her after my Summer holiday as we both need to be comfortable with each other. Needless to say, I didn't mail. I'd assumed she got the hint, but alas:

"I expected you would give me a email when you returned. So, since I thought you were not in Osaka on that day, I didn't come for the lesson.
I'm sorry if it's my misunderstanding. I might have caused you trouble.

I still would like to have your lesson if you don't mind. Is it ok for you on this Friday 10am?"

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

The Arctic is Cracking up...scramble for sovreignty

This is a pretty scary scenario. I'm thinking, "Christ, it's real, it's happening! Bangladesh is going to get those terrible floods, Europeans are going to be ill-equipped for summers in the 40 degree range, we are going to lose so many species and malaria will spread to the UK!" Canada and Russia are thinking "Oil, oil, oil, oil, oil, oil, oil, oil and shipping lane rights" So the use of fossil fuels that caused this hole has made the extraction of more fossil fuels from the Arctic area a realistic possibility. Irony hurts sometimes.

Minger plus Minger

It's nice to be able to say that you went to school with someone famous.....I guess? One girl from my year is a reporter for BBC breakfast and one guy is nearing the top of the pile in fashion retail. They did very well: you knew they would. UK schools don't quite have the cheesy "people most likely to succeed" section in their year books, but if they did, those two would have pulled a load of votes: ready to go the extra mile, intelligent, charismatic, friendly and attractive (well, one of them!)

It's foul, however, when your Google "I wonder whatever happened to (that self obsessed, bullying privileged) X" moment turns out with her photo in tabloids and the fact that she seems to be dating a pop star!

Quite who has the worst taste, I can't quite decide: the warbling, lyrically-challenged gimpoid or the up her own arse failed "actress" who used to torment and persecute the fashion retail guy (amongst scores of others)?

She has managed a feat though. Even though we were in the same year she has managed to rejuvenate herself into being 30 to my 34!

And look at that stupid hat!

Britney's fat snore snore snore

So everybody has had a good old laugh at the Britney Spears MTV Video performance awards: she seemed either drunk or cained or both; she forgot the lyrics and seemed not to be too concerned with dancing. She's been the manifestation of white trash for a few years now, but fat? Seriously, fat? Sure she is not the lean teenager she once was, but for someone who is always pictured gorging on junk and who has had two kids she was looking surprisingly good (naff hair and bikini notwithstanding.) She did herself no favours by picking something so revealing to loll around in, but I can't understand the spite with which her weight has been attacked.

The wonders of wanking and watermelons

You'd have thought that asking some 16 year old Japanese girls to see how many words you can make from the word "watermelon" as a 10 minute lesson filler would result in the old standbys of water/melon/me/meat/some/lets before the lethargy set in and cries of "iya iya" gave way to heads prolapsing onto desks.

You feel quite astounded by the originality of tear/art/lent/wet/loan/rant/wank.....WANK! "Er....where did you get this word?" You let slip as you kick yourself for drawing attention to the word as the student replies "Shiran...in dictionary" as fingers key in the word before howls and faces in hands spread around the class. "Never say this word" you say whilst pissing yourself laughing and suppressing a million jokes.

You think all will be forgotten, but get passed a note the following week saying "Do you know wank? I like wank. How about you? I play everyday."

You also realise that there is no "k" in watermelon!

Dr Death

Quote of the day:

"My car came back this week and a patient was dead on Saturday. A baby was dead and then three weeks later another baby was dead. In my mind I died the babies."

Dr Toshiaki, baby killer.

Emails you don't want to recive #1

So you're a big sucker for the utterance of Reeeeeebekaaar" (how can I possibly type the guttural R that should accompany this summoning of the loins?) Yet a decade down the line, you get a semi-incomprehensible and quite unsolicited reminder of:
"About the guy you met in Creel-Mexico and with who you
had a sexuel canyon experience... also remenber from
the souvenir of buying 25 caps, leather jacket, sun
glasses... about this guy... I'm fine!"

Well, I was glad to hear that. Truly, I was. Mr "Sexual Canyon" is doing good.

Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Finally remembered my log in details, so can post again!

Not that I've been in much of a mood to do so of late. Flitting between different sides of the planet can do funny things to a girl.

I had a first meeting with a potential new stalker today. I was minding my business, awaiting for the lights to turn blue (as it's red, blue, amber, red ,blue here)when I espy a portly figure hovering to my right. "Come on blue" I'm encouraging, but it's not before said chubster has plucked up the courage to serenade me with "ekusukuzu mi...I amu intaresutedo inu yu....retsu chato." I waved him away of course, but what was he thinking. You can't just go up to random people in the street and try to engage them in "chat"

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...........

Urge to read childhood favourites again

It's strange how much power a book you read in your early teens can have over you. Again, if you read a much cited rites of passage tome a little too late you can find it a pile of toss while others remember it vividly as a life changing moment.

I read The Catcher in the Rye when I was about 22 and thought that the irritating and "phony" Holden Caulfield deserved a good slap and will roll my eyes and curl up the right side of my mouth at anyone who reveres it. Jill, by Philip Larkin and written five years earlier does a much better job with an equally silly protagonist.

I was introduced to The Family from One End Street when I was about eleven by Mrs Millican who had a voice like a stoned Thatcher, a huge gap in her front teeth and walnut whip mane of dark blonde bun. The only clear memory I have is of the mother hiding from the milk man or the gas man and the curtains being drawn and the kids ordered to keep quiet. I was reminded of that episode recently when I recalled hiding below the windows with my mum from the insurance man and possibly the meter reader as well. Of course, my mum figured that of the curtains were closed it was obvious that you were in, hence my daring not to breathe as we got as flat to the floor and as close to the wall as we could.

I had to wait ages aged 14 for my reservation of Autumn Term by Antonia Forest and Fifteen by Beverly Clearly. Everyone in my year was desperate to read them, especially the latter as it was about boys and sex (or so I was led to believe!)

A few years ago I realised that revisiting the past is a bad idea: the place is no longer as pretty, the sex is dull, the company mind-numbing, the leading man an 80's muscle-bound moustachioed lump, so I'm not sure whether reading them again will awaken longings to climb on to my bunk-bed and kiss my poster of Bruce Willis or whether I'll sling them aside and wish I'd not disturbed the memory.

Spell-tastic

I have problems with anal retention (but more about my constipation at another time, arf arf!). Anyway, much as I find nit-pickers and obsessives irritating, I just love the fact that someone has made a website due to their annoyance over people misspelling the word definitely!

http://www.d-e-f-i-n-i-t-e-l-y.com/

Lack of manual instruction melt-down

Every corporate company in Japan comes with a manual of detailed instruction on how to act in given situations. Problems occur when the lack of authoritative direction requires the use of something which often goes amiss in Japan: common sense, together with the confidence to speak/act for yourself. This, coupled with the fear of making a mistake, leads to all kinds of silliness.

Take the following situation: you walk into a convenience store with your own (clearly visible) plastic bag and present the clerk with two beers. Faster than a hyena stripping a thigh bone, the index finger had already been moistened in the sponge and is rabidly detaching another plastic bag for your transportation pleasure.

You announce "I've already got a bag" as mild panic passes over the face of Super Clerk as he/she, (but men are more prone in my experience), desperately tries to remember any directives dealing specifically with foreigners carrying plastic bags. Unable to recall situation 10,046-b with any clarity SC simply ignores you and snatching up the bag, proceeds to bring it level with goods. Knowing that you have approximately 0.25 seconds before goods are packed, handles twisted together and another wasteful bag is about to be guiltily dragged home, mild panic enters your voice as you say "I don't need a bag!"

This announcement merely causes SC to complete the act in a record 0.15 seconds and triggers annoyance in your voice as you say "I don't need another bag! I have one here!" (Whilst thinking "Do you think I just happened to enter the store with a large empty plastic bag for my own amusement? Perhaps you think I collect them? Well, as a matter of fact I do, as you keep bloody well giving them to me!")

SC then rapidly (not rabidly this time) takes the beer out of the bag it has just been deposited in, adds a sticker (to prove that you paid for the item as the bag the beer has been put in is not from that store) and repacks and twists the handles and
you are on your way.

You are not yet on your way, however, if you have purchased salad, a drink or a tub of ice-cream: "I don't need disposable chopsticks, a straw and a plastic spoon....I live 50 metres away!" Too slow. You then get home to discover that you have also been given a plastic fork as directive 808,456-d mentions that foreigners often have difficulty using chopsticks.

Groan (in a good way!)

He is such an unrivalled vessel of manhood, an unmitigated generator of longing and initiator of tongue lolling that I could almost regain my late twenties sex drive (wouldn't that be scary...) Plus, he is also proof that you shouldn't dismiss the school nerd.

Karma

This photo makes me very happy. I love comeuppance.
I've had the delight of hearing how various nemeses got theirs over the last few years. Cue evil grin and hopes that I've not disturbed the cosmic boomerang by delighting in their (deserved) fates!

Oh Theodore!

Yes siree Wentworth Miller sure is eye candy, but I remain to be convinced of his acting skills (he is supposed to be playing a character who is supremely intelligent and devoid of certain emotions, but, as I've not seen him in anything else I'm not sure whether he is a decent actor or a little wooden!)

Robert Knepper on the other hand is a genius!

I'm about 2/3 of the way through season 2 of Prison Break (or series 2 as would be normal in English as opposed to Yanklish) and poor old T-Bag has lost his hand for the second time! It is getting more preposterous by the episode, but I love it and him! At the moment I'm waiting to see whether Fernando's light aircraft will be shot down by the FBI (they had so better not kill Sucre as he is such a sweetie and they've already killed Veronica and Tweener.....grrrr.)

Of course, under normal circumstances T-bag would have bled out in the barn when Abruzzi first chopped off his hand, but, miraculously, he managed to get it reattached by a vet (you can see where I am going with the preposterousness idea!) Of course, under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have developed a strong attachment to a paedophilic, rapist and murderer! I've witnessed him rape a young man who subsequently committed suicide, I've seen him murder one of the prison guards during the riot when the other prisoners wanted to let him go and then scare the next young rape victim into setting up his "friend" for the crime, we've been told that he killed and did "horrible things" to five teenage student nurses, he killed the vet who reattached his hand and has just killed Geary and managed to set up Bellick for the crime! Does he deserve to rot in hell? No way, he rocks!

And it isn't just me. A 13 year old Japanese student told me she likes him. Now, 13 year old Japanese girls like Disney, the colour pink and Daniel Radcliffe so if she also wants a heinous escaped criminal to evade capture, I don't feel too messed up in the head!

Why is he so popular? Why can I forget/over-look his crimes even though I could never forgive them? He is smart, has a great choice of vocabulary at his disposal that often makes he laugh out loud, he is cutting, witty and does that trade-mark tongue curl just before he is about to do/say something foul. I can't like a sadist because he is intelligent and amusing surely?

I think the writers/the actor first allowed us to warm to T-bag during the riot when Bellick announced that he was the resulting offspring of his father's rape of his retarded sister and the expression that crossed his face at the time. In the next episode he killed the young prison guard but I found myself saying "Oh...T-bag!" rather than feeling any disgust. We also saw his distress when he found out that Abruzzi had organised the killing of his brother and nephew as revenge against T-bag's attempted blackmailing of him. We are constantly reminded by other characters of his despicableness but I've started thinking "Oh, leave him alone!" I was laughing along with him when he managed to trick the others and get all the "loot" for himself.

Knowing that his DNA was "flawed" from the beginning lends him a certain sympathy but I think he comes across as a life with so much potential that just took the wrong path. And he probably didn't have much choice at the crossroads.

Good Luck Teddy! Here's hoping that you make it to season 3!

Update: Gyaah! He's just killed two more people but I'm still rooting for him. I'm surmising that he'll wind up back in Fox River with Bellick.

Yeah I like procrastinating....and what of it?!

On being asked whether having a baby had hampered his song writing, Mr Jarvis Cocker replied 'No, not at all. It was probably the other way round. If you've got limited time, it makes you use it more effectively - you're more focused. If you've got all the time in the world, you tend to sit around thinking, "Oh, I'll just sharpen some pencils."'

The electric ones of course. I can't be doing with the manual variety. It's that brief moment of capturing the perfect point before going too far and snapping the end off. I find that standing leads to the most successful tapered ends. Trouble is, I really like sharpening pencils. Second only to laminating as a pleasing office-based chore.

Why all this waffle, there was supposed to be a video here, but it didn`t work out!
Think it was three years ago, in Koh Mak, Thailand. The general idea seemed to be that I would appologize for lack of email content via video, what a marvel of technology my absent friends would deem me to be; how they would forget my lack of keyboard hammering whilst enjoying the peaceful surrounds of the bay; what slight frowns would appear between their eyes at the metamorphosis of my accent.......
Oh well, another time, perhaps.

Vino and vindaloo my arse!

Beer and curry. Curry and beer. A few beers and "How about going for a curry?" Far too many portions of curry and expensive poppadoms that you are too stuffed to bother with, but room enough for another trip back to the pub to trough back a few more beers.

Beer and wine? Er...no.

There's not a lot I can even think of to say. Visions of accountants annunciating "You dollop up the dopiaza, Francis and I'll top up the tipple. Mmmmm this Pink Elephant isn't bad eh?" Apart from I'm the one who is supposed to be "Mmmmmming" because Pink Elephant (a Portuguese rosé.....gah!) is "stylistically designed and targeted at women who eat curry".

But it's called "Pink Elephant" and it's BEER and curry not wine and curry.

They should've asked me. I'd have saved them the £1,000,000 pounds that they are destined to waste on trying to flog this anomaly to an aghast market.

Final cringe must be saved for the company's name. It's so bad that I can hardly say it. It's so bad that it is not even remotely funny and I should currently be stitching up my sides....Balti Wines!

That's like the Spaghetti Beer company telling you to drink Turin Shroud real ale with your lasagne.

http://lifeandhealth.guardian.co.uk/drink/story/0,,2100062,00.html

Update: I knew it! I just knew it! Googling "curry and beer" images brings you brave oaths of "to eat curry, drink beer" desperate pleas of "give me curry and beer for dinner" an enthusiastic "dribbling curry and beer on it" and the above hilarious jape, whereas, "curry and wine" brings about a recipe for "Red wine chicken curry" (wtf?) some ponce pontificating "As to the wine, I have chosen a Luigi" a not very enticing "quiet evening of wine and curry" a "wine expert" who has the audacity to go by the name of Julian Curry and some baldy recommending sparkling reds with "Indian cuisine!"

Getting sick of foreign men in Japan

Not because the majority of them fall into anime freak, Alpha male monster, social misfit crank or all-round gimpoid, but because they all seem to be stalking me.

The problem stems from the cliched foreign man held view that foreign women in Japan are fat, hairy, bitchy, undesirable, viciously sex-deprived unfeminine objects of ridicule that dare to hold an opinion and don't shave their faces.

Should one cross their path who is none of the above (apart from the opinioned part, naturellement!) They start frothing at the gills and groin and any hitherto held semblance of normal social intercourse goes out of the window.

Part of it it the problem with the choice of friends you have as an expat. Ironically, my current two chief stalkers have even mentioned themselves that they wonder if they would hang out with some of the people they do here if they were "back home." You have a relatively small pool of foreigners to choose from and the chance of really hitting it off with someone is quite slim, so you make do. Problems begin when the person you are making do with seems to view you more highly or doesn't have the self esteem to care that you really don't give two figs about them.

Tapping into my vast reserves of originality, I will term the first stalker Mr A and name the second Mr B!

A-san is a new case. I met him a few times through the one person here I really like hanging out with (Scott, who is leaving in September). He keeps inviting me to this really lame English-style pub with a scary regularity. It's partly the predictability, but also the fact that the pub has a tin of Heinz beans behind the bar and a Sooty puppet hanging from the menu (fish and chips, welsh rarebit...groan) is more than off-putting. A sent me 20 mails in one night last week. A asked me what my weekend plans were yesterday and I didn't reply to the mail. A then re-asked me today. A has mentioned that maybe I'd like to go to his in-laws place in Nara one weekend (huh?!) A keeps hugging and kissing me on departure and this is made even grosser because he smells of sour milk.

B-san has plenty of problems to overcome as a recovering alcoholic. He has spent the past eight months dry, which is really commendable. Trouble is, I have spent the past six years having him on the phone for over an hour at a time, having him phone me from his home country when he returns home, trying to convince him not to climb out of a train window, having him start sobbing in restaurants, being made privvy to information that makes it pretty difficult to even want know him let alone spend time with him, watching him (along with the rest of the room) knock back two beers and one huge jug of soju as the waitress tried to close the bar, draw attention to us with his great booming voice and being the word's biggest tight arse.

However, I like B! I'd like to spent one evening with B about every two months: he's funny, considerate, interested in a range of topics and can be very pleasant company. B, however, wants to meet me every week or so. As B has no self-respect, I can draw on a range of ever more silly excuses to get out of meeting him. I never 'phone or mail B, but like clock work, he is ringing up asking if I want to meet from lunch on Saturday almost every week. again the predictability of it annoys me the most. I'm shouting at his emails (as I never answer the 'phone if his name appears) "Fer Gawd's sake think of something else!"

What the hell has Kylie done to herself?

She looked incredibly young until she was about 33/34. The above trademark pose looked cute then. Sure chemotherapy is ageing, sure you feel like crap when you've had parts of you removed, masses of chemicals pumped into your body and then your bit of French does a runner. But, steady on with the botox woman.

Nobody looks younger after botox or a facelift. They just look weird. Not smooth as in a 14 year old but as in a wax work dummy. She's 39 going on 50. Now that pose looks like an evil pixie.

The three definitive signs that you are "old"

I've been having quite a few epiphanies recently, not all of them "aha!" moments and the above was definitely more of a "aaaagh" moment.

Nothing to do with getting vast amounts of grey hair, no connection to realising that you fall into the category of "if you've worn it the first time around, you are too old for it second time around" (being as someone who has worn leggings three times around!) Not related to hang overs that last all day and induce tears and five weeks of alcohol abstination (cough cough). Rule out: yawning at10:30pm; inability to function on less than seven hours of sleep; lack of excitement over 10 hour bus journies (what, only me?) Having students who were not even born when I graduated from University; only one year until I tick the "35-50" box; realising that my mother was right; lack of inclination to have sex and not being able to contemplate a one night stand when I used to be a slag.......(ok time to stop with that list, it's abnormalities in the production of luteinising hormone or latent lesbianism I tell ya!)

They are:

1) Listening to Radio 4

Ah the joys of Received Pronunciation! The back-log of "Listen Again" I am currently ravishing on an almost daily basis; the familiarity of "that" tune from "that" cheesy drama that my mum used to listen to; the fact that I eagerly click on "Woman's Hour" without a second thought to the embarrassment factor ("What embarrassment factor? It's not about knitting patterns and menstruation you know! Men even listen to it. They sometimes discuss men's issues. Well, OK, that bit's a bit crap...")

2) Actually really believing that "your" music was better

Well, I guess knowing, rather than believing. Checking old old videos on You Tube (gawd bless it!) Searching for info on old bands who once had a top 75 hit and then promptly disappeared (well, at least they didn't sell out!) Getting all misty eyed about festivals in the early 90's and scoffing at the current array, multiplying like Legionnaires' in a shower, headlined by the likes of Lilly Allen and the Williams. Being somewhat miffed to discover that Dickon from the Tindersticks now looks like a Hovis loaf whereas Katy Jane Garside now looks normal and is almost 40! Coming across bands that you used to love and can't believe you had forgotten about (well, there was that period in the late 90's where Dance seemed to be the way to go, Indie was a bit sad, that and the fact that your records are 5814.60 miles across the ocean!)

3) Myspace, Bebo, Facebook etc

This is the ulimate: why would anyone want to? I mean, why establish "networks" with random strangers just because you both love the work of an unknown Mongolian toilet brush sculptor? Why post a message to your friends when you could pick up the 'phone or send a normal email or text? Why allow random weirdos and stalkers to be able to find out about your life, loves and friends? Why feel the need to advertise your likes/dislikes and favourites to the world? Especially if you are over 15!

Imagine my despair to find today that a forum I sometimes read and occasionally post on announcing their revamp "It looks a lot like profiles you would get on social networking sites....we are moving towards a more interactive experience soon." No! Leave me alone! I don't want to social network. I don't want cyber friends. Why are they doing this?

I have no idea why.

I guess I'm just too old to understand or to care to understand.

So half of parliament and a whole load of sports stars are sporting "Yellow ribbons for Madeleine"

It's truly awful that four year old Madeleine McCann was snatched from the bedroom of her hotel room on holiday. It's appalling to imagine her fate (which may be worse if she is still alive), yet it is also quite disturbing that, out of the 77,000 kids that go missing in the UK every year, it is only the few that can check all the boxes that make it to the front pages. Cute? Yep. Blonde? Sure. White? Most definitely. Middle class? Naturally: a GP and a Radiologist for parents.

Scary things happen when young, blonde, white girls go missing: tabloids demand the whereabouts of known sex offenders be made aware to the public, vigilante groups start beating up pediatricians and relatives carrying on abusing, safe in the knowledge that it is only ever "Stranger Danger" that we are paranoid about.

Taking race out of the equation, why is it that an abduction of a beautiful, privileged child is more heartbreaking than that of, say, fat, ginger, tendency to nose pick in public, retarded offspring of a dustman and his wife who works at the local chippy?

http://missingkids.co.uk/missingkids/servlet/PublicHomeServlet

For you

PENIS
For the person who thinks I mention the above word in every post.

Things you should never do

1) Go back out with an ex
Fine if it's only been a three week break up after a silly fight, but it's a no go if it has been a substantial period of separation, especially over six months. As a dumpee, you should be aware that, despite protestations of regret and lingering feelings, the dumper is only considering you again as s/he hasn't managed to get any body else. By now, the dumper is lacking in self esteem and also sporting those rosy shades and feels that being with you again is a far better option than being alone.

After the dumpee's initial joy at being reunited with his/her lost love, s/he will realise that what has in fact been regained is a sulky partner resentful that s/he been made to accept the romantic scraps. The dumpee will compare this new reality with what s/he knew before, wonder what made s/he go back over old ground just when s/he was starting to get on with things alone and thinking about possibly dating someone else.

Finally, the dumpee, still bitter that s/he was dumped in the first, will wonder why s/he is putting up with this shit in the first place and will dump the dumper and relegate her/him to postion of dumpee.

What a waste of time. Everyone's a loser.

2) Use s/he for extended periods in a text.

Yes, it's grammatically correct, but bloody annoying to read. From now on it's "they" all the way!

3) Ask a vegetarian if they wear leather.

Oh, the originality of it. Yes we do. Got a problem with that. Oh you have. Well, actually I was just going to the bar......Oh right we are all hypocrites are we? Fine. No, I don't wish to debate the merits of flesh. Well, if your body needs meat, then so be it. Are you a practising Christian? Thought not, neither am I so I don't concern myself with what the bible says. Speak for yourself: I don't consider my canines to be all that prominent actually! I was never all that into bacon sandwiches, so not really. What, are you actually asking me of I would starve to death or eat a rabbit? Are you for real? Er....Jesus....I don't know about your girlfriends, but I wasn't under the impression that fellatio actually involved eating a penis. I mean, that sounds painful. Into hard core are you? Well, not a lot of people care to know but there is a fair amount of protein in fruit and vegetables. Oh, right we are back to hypocrisy are we? So, how exactly does smoking dope make me a hypocrite? Do I look like the sort of person who goes around waving lettuce leaves under someone's nose? Well, if someone could've cured my Mum, then bring on the rats, guinea pigs and monkeys I say! See, the odd thing is, as a raving fundamental food terrorist I seem to be quite in control of my faculties whilst it's apparently you who is about to explode! Anyway, as I said, I was just about to get a drink. Oi! I heard that!

4) List yourself on Friendsreunited and its ilk

Especially if all you write under the "What X is doing now" section is "Ahhhhhhhh......that would be telling!" You won't fool anyone. You won't be thought of as an international person of mystery, just someone who is clearly embarrassed by the way their life has turned out.

Especially if you don't want someone who you haven't spoken to for 20 years sending you emails.

5) Don't send someone you haven't spoken to for 20 years emails

If you haven't stayed in touch, then clearly, you didn't like each other enough to stay in touch.

6) Tick "unsure" in the "Orientation" box if you are over 30

Exactly how many more years of sex is it going to take before you know? Or are you regularly lacking it so all offers are welcome?

Are shop assistants globally trained to piss me off?

In developing countries they are constantly two steps behind me, turning corners with me in tandem least I try to shove that toilet roll into my bag or make a run for it with my litre of mineral water (cue inner rantings of "Do you really think I would steal your stuff when I could buy this entire shop on an hour's wage rah rah imperialist rah?")

In the UK I have to practically set my head on fire to get them to either deign or be bothered to notice my irksome presence and some have mastered the art of serving me and giving me change without interrupting their conversation with their colleague ("You aren't blind are you? So you are, in that case, able to figure out the total or read the till by yourself.")

In Japan, the moment a finger barely touches a garment, the assistant rushes over to tell me that I can try it on if I so wish. Slide another hanger and, yes, that garment is also available for a trip to the changing room. Pause for five seconds to look at something and I will be given the run down on how I could wear it and how good it would look on me. If, against my better judgement, I get carried along with the clerk's enthusiasm(i.e. glimmer of commission on the horizon) and head for the changing room I will be given a large white hood to cover my face to prevent make up getting on the clothes (even if I'm not wearing any as they don't believe me!) Then, after approximately twenty seconds, I will panic as an alarmingly close voice is asking me how I am getting on and I'm unsure how to reply as I currently resemble naked bee-keeper.

If I can stand it thus far and make a purchase I will be guided through the transaction in great detail and grand manner "That comes to 6995 yen. You've given me 7000 yen and your points card. Here is your 5 yen change but please wait a moment while I add your points. Thank you for waiting. Here is your points card. Please wait again while I wrap your purchases. Here is your purchase which I will hand over after I have accompanied you to the shop entrance. Here is your purchase. Thank you for your custom and do come again"

In the Philippines, despite my protestations, they make me try on a child's T shirt as they are quite sure that they don't have any larger sizes and they are know it will fit. Obviously, it barely covers my chest as hooting with laughter, they suddenly find my size. LL. Munter size. I make a joke that I've become fat as I've gone from M in the UK to L in Japan to LL in the Philippines. They say "You're not fat, M'aam. You're chubby."

Kate Moss accused of fleecing sheep

A worrying habit of late is that people on a forum I read often quote articles from the Daily Mail. As I'd rather gouge out my own eyes and submerge myself in a vat of oleum than be a Daily Scum reader it is with a great deal of pain and self-loathing that I sometimes peep.

I couldn't resist Liz Jones attacking Kate's new range for TopShop though.

Kate Moss inspiring a range for TopShop; a wank on a hanger for me and apparently hundreds of thousands of British women who thronged to Oxford Street and queued for hours only to be granted 20 minutes of coloured wristband enforced shopping frenzy. Those few precious minutes included trying on time as well. Other rules were that you couldn't try on more than eight outfits, could only make five purchases in total and couldn't buy one outfit in more than one size.

According to Jones, these draconian rules led to some sort of sartorial hysteria and resulted in the panic buying of sub-standard, over-priced tat which had been Sir Philip Green's plan all along.

God how annoying is Liz Jones. She is best known in the UK for a column in the Sunday Times that chronicled her miserable life as a single girl and then her relationship with "the boyfriend" who then became "the husband." As I have no time for women who whine about being single I found her column strangely addictive in the same way that a crowd watches a man on a window ledge and secretly hopes he will jump. She was known for revealing all, but I don't see that my life was enriched by the knowledge that, whilst in the bath, her boyfriend's penis resembles a brown periscope. She was at some point editor of Marie Claire and now has been reduced to a fashion column in the Daily Tory and the salivating hordes who lap up its bigotry.

I myself checked the TopShop website and was a tad disappointed and thought some of the clothes weren't much, but that could never dim my view of the great Kate. Liz Jones and the moaners in her article, however, seem to have been shocked that on trying on her items they themselves bore no resemblance to a supermodel and, still being fat and/or ugly, felt a tad sheepish for falling for the hype, queueing for hours and then buying clothes that they were unhappy with. Even Jones said she wasn't sure about four of the five items she paid for them, which begs the question "Why did you buy them then, Dumbarse?" Googling a picture of Jones will tell you that barring cloning, there is no way she could even pass for a Freeman's catalogue woman let alone a Moss-a-like

Cheap quality? It's TopShop for gawd's sake not Kate for Fendi or Kate does D&G! Oh so your red halterneck looks a bit naff does it Miss Bennett from reading? Could that be because you are pictured in the Daily Racist and haven't been styled for Vogue and, well, are not a model.
Enforced panic buying or that TopShop correctly anticipted and prevented changing room brawls and catfights over hotpants?

It could be thought of a sell out, after all Kate's thing has been that she is the only individual in the fashion world and she is always ahead of the game. But seeing as all of the high street stores as well as brand names have been ripping off her look for years, its probably a smart idea to get paid 3,000,000 quid for the pleasure. She's still very much in demand as a model but at 33 she knows she has a limited shelf-life and is securing a footing in the field after retirement.

It was all a con was it Jones? Or was it sour grapes that whilst a selected "coterie" of "cocaine" Kate's friends and significant fashion people were enjoying a private party inside the shop you were locked out on the streets with the 13-year-olds and their mothers. Bah Humbug or just Baaaaaaaaaaaaa?


GO KATE!

As if the world wasn't unfathomable enough anyway, a man cuts off his penis in front of a crowd of diners!

From the BBC

The man tried to gain access to the kitchen

A man cut off his penis with a knife in a packed London staurant.

Police were forced to use CS gas to restrain the man when they entered the Zizzi restaurant in The Strand on Sunday evening.

A Metropolitan Police spokeswoman said the man was aged between 30 and 40 and that his injuries were self-inflicted.

The man was then taken to hospital in south London where his condition is stable. It is understood surgeons were unable to reattach his penis.

The man then picked up a kitchen knife and slashed himself across the wrist and groin Zizzi spokeswoman

A spokeswoman for Zizzi said the man was not thought to have any connection with the restaurant.

She said: "At around 9pm on Sunday, a man walked into the Zizzi restaurant on The Strand, down the stairs to the basement restaurant area and tried to enter a kitchen.

"Members of staff stopped him, at which he ran into a second kitchen area.

"The man then picked up a kitchen knife and slashed himself across the wrist and groin areas before running back into the restaurant, where he continued to stab himself.

"This happened in a matter of seconds and was obviously extremely frightening and distressing for the many customers and staff in the restaurant at the time."

She added: "Apart from the man, we understand that no-one else suffered any physical injuries."

98% of prosecutions result in a conviction in Japan yet Lucie Blackman's killer was acquitted!

They found one of her hairs in his condominium; there, they also found the receipt for the chainsaw which sliced up her body; they traced an anonymous phone call to her friend ("Lucie has joined a cult and will not be back") to his mobile phone; she was found encased in concrete in a cave 250 metres away from his condo; he was a frequent visitor of the club she worked at; police found over 200 sex videos in his apartment (many of which appeared to show him raping unconscious women); he was already under investigation for the rape of two foreign and two Japanese women yet:

"The court cannot prove that he single-handedly was involved in her death," Presiding Judge Tsutomu Tochigi told the Tokyo District Court.

"What is clear is that the victim was together with the accused and then vanished and next was found dead."

Oh and the suspect in the Lindsay Hawker case (the suspect who fled from his apartment in front of eight policemen) hasn't been sighted since.

The jurisdictive rot in Japan is truly repulsive.

JR tried to steal my \1000!

After somehow ballsing up the Fare Adjustment machine as I attempted to load some extra cash onto my icoca card, I was left with the following situation: a 1000 yen note that had not quite disappeared into the machine and a card that was wedged in the slot. At this point feeling unabashed I yanked away at the card and it finally gave way, accompanied by a siren and flashing lamps.

I expected the JR workers to come galloping over, but they didn't so I had to hover by the machine, loosing all poise and absorb more strange looks than usual.

Finally being able to explain the situation and the back of the machine being opened, I soon thought I would be reunited with my money and all would be well. Alas no. Mr projectile saliva the station manager kept insisting I had only put in 100 yen as that was all he could find in the back of the machine. He had no reason to doubt me as Japanese people just don't try it on all the time unlike Brits, so seemed puzzled and said he would investigate the matter and call me back the next day after they had cashed up in the morning. So far only 15 minutes expended!

Three days later I hadn't received the phone call, which was more annoying than the lost money, so I dragged the boyfriend (who insists on being called "hero" after helping me out of too many scrapes recently) along with me. I soon recognised the bark of the saliva dude and told him I hadn't been called back. He made a big fuss about not believing I hadn't been called back and then invited us into the den under the tracks that JR workers borrow into for 10 hours a day.

Initially, I was even a little bit excited as the most you usually get to see of a JR worker is a head popping out of the ticket machine if you call for assistance (very disconcerting the first time you witness it!) However, after spending almost 40 minutes in the warren cum office and being asked whether I may have in fact put my money in the wrong slot or listening to suggestions that a thief might have stealthily taken the money in front of my very eyes (ten minutes to check the video footage proved that this preposterous event hadn't in fact occurred) and the Hero almost exploded and demanded to know why we were sitting here listening to this nonsense and that if they had called me back as promised we wouldn't be wasting the tail end of a Saturday's sunlight.

After more examining of my card and protestations that no one could possible explain the mystery, we were finally allowed to leave. The station manager promised to look into the matter further and we said that we'd call by again on our return.

The matter concluded with spittle and declarations that words could not express his regret and a 1000 yen JR pass card.

Happy Birthday to me

Happy Birthday to me
Happy Birthday dear me
Happy Birthday to me

Well, yes, it is particularly sad wishing yourself a happy birthday, but. believe me, not as sad as passing your 34th Birthday in the company of a throat infection and one card. Yes, that was ONE card. From my boyfriend. Who lives with me. Who is hardly in a position to forget.


There are many challenging things about living abroad but being forgotten by your family for the third year in a row rates pretty highly. I feel about as popular as a fart on a camping trip.

Embarrassing loss of ability to spell “erect” leads to location of foreskin troubled man who, likewise, cannot spell “erect”

DO NOT ATTEMPT INTERCOURSE WITH THIS MAN. He has a permanently moist penis and is not sure whether he is erect or errect when thrusting for bout 5 mins.

hi i cant pull my foreskin back when i am not erect unless my penis is moist when i do it dose not roll back to normal on its own the problem is even worse when i am errect i cant pull it back at all and when i have sex i can feel it beeing pulled back as i thrust i have to thrust very slow for bout 5 mins b4 it is pulled back then when i pull it out the skin will not roll back up i have to pull it up it takes 4eva goin to docs tommro real embaresed bout it but think i wud rather get circumcised but there are so many types of circumcised penis what will i get on the nhs

Ladies’ Carriages

In most countries the scourge (in this case gropers and perverts) would be dealt with.

In Japan the potential victims are dealt with, or rather removed, and kept beast-like in the cage marked “Ladies Carriage. From the first train until 9am and from 5pm until 9pm this carriage is only for the use of females.” Perhaps this keeps the chikan and sukebe under control but why not just deal with the bloody chikan and sukebe rather than force women - who want to arrive at work without undergoing the slim, but significant, risk of having an erect penis thrust against your arse or a hand against your vagina in the crush – to endure a whole carriage full of clashing perfume, stiletto trammelling on peep-toe and fake Louis Vuitton thrust into your vagina in the crush.

An eighteen year old arrived at my previous job, a College of marginally Higher Education with some semen down the back of her coat. A gallant male colleague spotted it and wiped it off telling her that a bird must’ve crapped on her. Yes, the problem of train pervs does exist in Japan, but that hasn’t stopped it being exploited by some for financial gain. The whisper of “I’ll announce to the whole carriage that you just touched me unless you give me \20,000” has many a middle-aged man clutching the hanging straps with both hands in a “Look all, my hands are here and nowhere near the school girls” desperate gesture.

My favourite? When a last second leaper realizes to his horror that he has trespassed into the female preserve and watches despairingly as the doors slide together and he is trapped in the glare of fifty (Fifty what? Homogenists? Why isn’t there a clear antonym of misogynist?) Fifty pairs of female eyes that, for the two minute ride to the next station and freedom, direct all wrath at being stuck in this bloody oestrogen hell-hole in his hapless direction.

Saw Smog and Joanna Newsom behind some twenty foot instestines last weekend

OK...the venue. Probably the worst venue I've ever been to to see a band. Capacity was limited to 150 but 300 could have easily have fitted in but for the "art" installations. Right in front of the playing area was a massive white semi-inflated plastic thing that resembled the intestines of a Diplodocus or its discarded condom. Over this was a big white balloon that was floating above a fan and under a spinning stick. Other objects d'art included two ripped sofas, a crate suspended from the ceiling and other spinning sticks. The most irritating thing was this wire and light contraption that kept been unravelled to its full length and then coiled up ad infinitum. The audience was shooed upstairs and huddled together so that only the front row (who were dangling their feet over the edge) could see anything. Mick and I soon decided that the decorations were a load of shite and I decided that our absent friend Scott would have liked them.

Did I mention that the venue didn't sell ANY kind of drink?

The support consisted of this Japanese woman playing some kind of electric organ (I'm guessing as I couldn't see it) and accompanying it with lyrics such as " da da da da da" "ha wooo woooo hahaha" "doko ni iku doko ni iku doko ni iku." One song consisted just of "Lucifer" being said repeatedly. I was imaging someone else coming on and striking one note of a Ralph Harris stylophone, when Mick said that it was "too much like parody to be taken seriously. " I decided Scott would have liked her.

After the performers and crew were cruelly sipping beer under the wistful looks of a thirsty audience, Smog was up first. He was good, of course, but didn't play that long a set to be honest. I was getting back pains from leaning in a weird angle so I tried to find a better place. After crushing some poor blokes hand with my pink ballet pump, I found a good spot, only to be interrupted by the constant coming and going of the wire appliance. Every minute or so lights were blinding me or wires were crossing my line of vision. I ended up standing half way up the stairs and hanging over the balcony.

So to Joanna. She was a vision in a black dress, black leggings with skeleton bones up and down the back and hair hanging loose down to her waist. Unfortunately, she made the fashion error of pairing black trousers with brown shoes, so only scored 7.5 from me. I had the same viewing problem as before. By now, some people had rebelled and were standing down stairs so I attempted to join them. There was certainly more atmosphere, but the balloon kept making its circuit and after about 5 minutes of watching half a harp and a big balloon, I went back up stairs.

She played for a long time and was accompanied by 2 blokes intermittently strumming, tapping, crooning or just sitting. I was quite surprised in that I really enjoyed her compared to the last time I saw her. She was less manic and her voice seemed a whole octave lower. Mick's synopsis was "She's certainly grown in confidence and the new music showed a greater range and depth. She is tighter both musically and vocally and there weren't any of those straggling songs that don't go any where. All in all, a very solid, impressive performance." I summed it up as "less squawky."