2006-02-27
Goodness – nearly the end of the month and we haven’t had brain dump yet!With bird flu hitting the patie de foie gras industry at the same time as Mardi Gras, this must be first time since Olivia Neutron Bomb that grease has been dominating the headlines in such a major way.
I realised over the weekend why it is that when men have a cold they have to retire to bed, whereas women stoically keep going – clearly as men tend to be bigger it must have been a more potent virus that has laid us low than the one that attacks women. Maybe we get the same illnesses as women from time to time but just don’t notice it! But then I was slightly delirious when I came up with this theory and am now sufficiently compis mentis to realise the false logic that’s going on there. But the idea that different illnesses attack different sexes is worth spending a few million on research I’d say. After all bird flu is obviously not going to affect men – just ‘wor budz!’
‘Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re going to get’…except if you buy Ferrero Rocher, of course.
Thirty years ago I remember wondering how T Rex got away with putting out the same single with different titles. Now the Sugarbabes are doing the same thing. And I disagree – if you’re ugly, it doesn’t follow that I am too.
After ten years of silence Lynne persuaded me it was time to put a new battery in the smoke detector. And now it goes off every time you switch on a light!. Really these things are more trouble than they’re worth. Same as burglar alarms – just nuisance value.
My brother sent me a copy of a page from the Memphis telephone directory with two names circled: ‘Jablome, Hayward’. ‘Jablome Hayward, Jr.’ It took me an hour or so to work out why that was funny and then I laughed until I stopped. Maybe the father was just getting some revenge for what had been done to him.
What on earth were the CIA doing recording Princess Diana’s telephone calls? And why won’t they hand over the transcripts? I predict a conspiracy theory again. Surely no coincidence that in the crashed car Diana was in the ‘back. And to the left’
OK. Ken Livingstone can be an arse (and he keeps newts), but at least he’s an elected arse. Unlike the Prince.
Was I the only person who got nauseous watching the five teams competing in the four-man relay short speed-skating event? That continuous swirling motion of twenty bodies was exactly like lying in bed, concentrating on the ceiling after five pints of Old Peculier. Round and round, and then a shove up the backside (well maybe not that bit). But – wasn’t it sad when the Glasgow fish-wife got knocked out of the curling?
You learn something new…I just read that most of the buildings destroyed in the San Francisco 1906 earthquake were as a result of the fire department blowing them up to try to stop the spread of fires. And the fires were caused by people trying to cook their breakfast after the earthquake, on stoves with broken chimneys.
‘So Mr Springsteen – where were you born?’
Watching Scotland beat England at rugby - heelandlass’ phrase about ‘blootering the tatties’ came into my head. Astonishing defence, huge men lifted off their feet and dumped on the ground, and no nancy-boy padding either! ‘…proud Edward’s army..and sent him homeward tae think again’
Why are the numbers on a telephone the other way up from the numbers on a calculator or computer? And where’s the sense in putting the little ridge that identifies the five on the number that’s hardest for blind people to find as it’s right in the middle. With chip and pin they’ll have pressed all the numbers before they find their reference point!
‘So Mrs Flintoff… your husband’s called Andrew but is always known as Freddie, and he can’t be here for the birth of your child because two of his mates have got dodgy knees. Talk me through that again and PUSH! Gas and air Mr Vaughan, Mr Jones?’
I’ve been watching re-runs of ‘Early Doors’. Never mind Fawlty Towers and The Office –this is surely the best sit-com Britain ever produced. I just loved Joe sitting in the pub, settling into his second pint, lamenting the fact that his wife was putting on airs and graces now she’d got a job, and how
” it’s the children I feel sorry for. Her working late means they have to go to an after-school club. And they’re too young to understand...their sad little faces are pushed up against the window wondering when Mummy’s going to come and take them home…They’ll be there now!”
It’s obviously wrong to have held a nine-year old boy at gunpoint for several hours (although I’m not sure why the papers have latched on to the fact that it was the day before his birthday. I mean the robbers weren’t exactly going to check that out before they set off, or turn back and say “Sorry, certainly don’t want to spoil your birthday, OK if we come back next week instead?”), but the Tonbridge robbery was just so enormous that part of me hopes they get away with it. I know that’s bad, but it feels a bit like the Great Train Robbers who ended up as virtual national heroes. Reporter: ‘Who do you think is behind these criminals?’ ‘Senior Policeman: ‘We are. A long way behind’
After all these years we should be told. Who did let the dogs out? Who? Who?.Who?