This is the first year that I have noticed (with great foreboding of the nature of future years) that Christmas in Japan has finally "arrived" on a large scale.  A lot of shopping areas put up decorations and the Kobe "Illuminarie" has been going for serveral years to commemorate the victims of the Hanshin Earthquake, but this year, the TV commercials seemed to take on a different spin: namely that things being advertised without a Christmas connection, seemed to feature santas or families acting "Christmassy"

Christmas in Japan is basically thought of as "romantic" and officially it is when a couple dress up and go out for a posh dinner and eat iced sponge! I was greatly amused by the tree in Mio department store (my second home") This year it featured TV screens that inbetween having santa bouncing around, showed a recurring two minute video of a girl alone on Christmas Day, but who finally meets a guy.   Talk about taking the Christ out of Christmas!
 

Quack quack

I wonder of the definition of being out of your mind involves going out in the cold to view a giant rubber duck?
I was, however, cheered to discover that it actually appears to be taking your own smaller version and taking pictures of it in front of the duckzilla version (Santa togs for the teeny version optional!)

I was never a huge fan of Walnut Whips,

but I hope that my path is never darkened by one again after discovering that they appear to share their shape with the average faecal matter of the average Japanese.  You may wonder why I know that Japanese people produce a whorl of turd, but the answer is simple: they draw them every where.  Not just the kids.  This one was drawn by one of my 40 something private students who went on to explain "Asian people eat a lot of rice, so our stool is very big."

If you want to feel really old

Make sure that you take a group shot of yourself with a bunch of 18 year olds. Go on! I really recommend it.  Exactly half a life time away. Actually, it was perhaps worth it as the group in question managed the not so rare feat of making me shed a tear or two.  I also sucked air through my teeth today.  This was pointed out.  Apparently, this is a Japanese trait.  I just thought it eas a universal "I'm not sure if that is the case". I was encicled by my share of the KoIII Sogo course girls after their final English class as they each spewed forth a sentence ("Rebecca, in Japanese OK") saying how much they had enjoyed the class and like me.  I think the dam burst was caused by the noisy crew saying "Sorry we are always noisy and you have to tell us to be quiet all the time!"

Reading Liz Jones

- God, never intentionally, I usually end up directed there by default, but it must be some masochistic tendency I have: I always want to spit at the computer by the end of the first paragraph.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1229399/LIZ-JONES-What-happened-I-tried-live-65-week.html

Sakura Sakura

Time for the entire population of Japan to gaze in wonderment at the Cherry Blossom again. Ahhh how the brief and splendid life of the flower brings to mind that of the brief and splendid life of a samurai. A gust of wind and short down pour and it's all over (until next year).

Det Don Flack from CSI:NY wears too much blusher and lipstick.

Well he does. He looks silly.

I have the body of a 55 year old Japanese woman

Which is made all the more blatantly clear when you decide to strip off and soak in the, not quite kitsch, not quite cheesy, bathing establishment known as Spa World. I drew the short straw this month as the female bath was Asia Zone. Europe Zone is far cooler. Asia Zone is OK but the centre obviously realises its limitations by getting rid of India and replacing it with Dr Spa...unfortunately a failure. OK, so India was indistinguishable from Islam (too ironic for comment) but since replacing the elephant statues and jet bath with some non-descript pools of supposed healing value, the crowd, and pube count has increased. I know that I'm a hairist but I don't want long, black pubes drifting in my direction if you please.

Anyway, what was my point? Oh yes. It's quite depressing to be surrounded by the high of tush and pert of breast as your 35th birthday looms like some ominous cloud (3 days to go) but when you notice that the grannies have got better bods than you the heart does tend to sink somewhat. That and the staring. Yes, I am foreign, yes I have a different body to you lot but do you really think I want to be eagerly viewed in a state of undress? It's one thing to be eyeballed (fully clothed) on the train every bloody day ("Get over it, yes I'm not Asian, but stop focking looking at me!") but to watch as 98.879% of the bathers eyes take in your face and then automatically move down to your nipples (yes, Crickey O'Reilly, they are a different colour to yours) and, not content with metting out that humiliation, descend lower to examine your pubic hair (OK folks! It's brown and wavier than yours but keep your bloody eyes to yourself!)

Only one thing for it:revenge glaring "Look at the brown torpedo teats on that! Cor would you ever! No wonder the cerebrally-challenged gaijin male population refer to your pubic hair as "Muff Fuji" - get a trim why don't you! And as for you Grandma, I can't work out what is droopier, your jawline, flaccid udders or your "amazing how much skin can hang off such a bony thing" arse!

I feel much better now.

Henri Cartier-Lego

I adore his work. He is easily my favourite photographer (predictable maybe - but Martin Parr at number two wouldn't be!) These Lego images by Mike Stimpson are wonderful:the Ebbets one, however, is genius.

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.