Brown Stuff

Oh joy and rapture. I have found a pub locally that sells that nectar called Black Sheep Bitter for under two of your stinking English pounds per pint. And a barman in black with Downs Syndrome lurching about the place speaking VERY LOUDLY, whom I of course have nicknamed Igor. Oh well, nobody ever said I was a nice person.....

Grey

Don'tcha hate days like this? A low blocked in overcast. Gusting winds. Misty rain that can't quite make it's mind up whether it's going to bother or not. You just can't get the weather these days. But at least it's a lie in as my late arrival home yesterday after the four hour trip home put me outside of the time I have to have as rest if I wanted to join the team for their 6am start. Oh dear. What a shame. Never mind. Blessed be the European Working Time Directive. Not a bad thing anyway, it's good to let his cattiness get used to me being back, what with last weekend away, his routine's a little off kilter and they don't like that, he's a little scatty at the mo. Mind you, still delivered a dead mouse neatly camouflaged on the lounge carpet for my boot to find. I really must get rid of that carpet, if only for hygiene reasons!!

After the nice tight works Volvo with the low profile tyres, my old Vecc'y feels like Borat's wife, loose and sloppy. But bomb into work I did, and managed to avoid actually doing any proper work, which is a suprisingly good thing. Because I spent the time getting an enormous backlog of other important stuff barged out of the way and with good reason; as of now I am on holiday for three weeks. OK, I've got to cover one weekend in October for reasons I shall not bore with, but apart from that, most of next month is mine. And I've just worked out it's payday. I'm going to the pub. Seeya !

Old Magic

... still appears to be there.

Been off for a few days at the Southern Military College of things that go BANG on my official "stopping things from going bang" course, a bit of a busman's holiday in some respect for me as I've been around these things for years and years, but it's nice officially being accredited at last to do what I've been helping them sort out for as long as I can remember. A challenging course actually, and one that I took incredibly seriously due to the fact that if I'd have flumped it, I'd probably have had to resign as the humiliation would have been way too much to face. As it turned out I didn't need to. Spent the evening in the bar, reading my book with an impromtu bookmark with the correct schedule we must trust everybody's lives to written on it and every time I picked the book up, or put it down, I read the thing aloud. They must have thought me a loon. They might have been right.

But on the final morning morning they let me out on the range; I've not fired a handgun in ten years but it seems I still can. And well. Earned the praise of the hardest to please army instructor we had, that was nice enough, but the male ego is for once happy. From the Smith & Wesson .22 (pah), through a couple of 9mm's to the Desert Eagle in BIG -most jolly, but not as much of a handful as my old Grizzly. Certainly gave the bullseye a hard time with that cannon to a certain amount of raised eyebrows from the other students and my, didn't I enjoy the Kalashnikov.

And it paid off. Results through today. Second in the class. And analysing the results, I can put the fact that I didn't take top down to examination nerves, my weakest scores were all at the start of the exam before I got into the swing of it and got my confidence up. Of course it's not a race.

But a man can grin from time to time.

Oh my....

And my contender for movie trailer of the year goes here....

Home Turf

Heheheheh..... another year, another time I'd have been organising this weekend's fun and games for a bunch of 'netheads to come and drink beer in my home town until it seeps out of their ears. This year I'm doing it all for me. Ain't I selfish :o)

So.... after a day of hassles, 150 miles of road and for once a pleasant journey I rolled into hometown in the early evening. Dumped the funbuggy at the Hospitable Home of Kev and jumped into a taxi. Odd, that's the first time I've ever met a cabbie from Uzbekistan. Or indeed, anybody else from there either. Mooched my way into the Corn Exchange where the beer's at, picked up my glass and beercards and straight away run into Jon, he of the sadly recently depleted cat pack and Phil; immediately spotted by Paul and Tracy .... all these guys I've been beering with for around 18 years.... that's just scary, whereupon a slender arm snakes around my shoulders from behind for a sneak hug. " I hope to f*ck that's female" and indeed it's SouthernSophe', a great buddy of similar seniority who's been serving at the beerfest in shorts and fishnets ever since I was going. A whole bunch of great people in five minutes. I love Beerfest time. During the evening Kev turned up from his prior engagement; ran into a guy called Frank I know from way back who's one of life's groovy people; S'Sophe's excellent other half Andy and his very civilised mate John and really too many folks to name. A shame Ginger Chris, Sal' and Scottish Miche' couldn't make it, coz if they could over the weekend we'd have been in an "all the old gang's here" situation, but there were no downers to be had here.

Three days of beering to be had here - hammered the British style beers, the German ones that were here for the first time being served by a tiny guy in Leiderhosen and even found myself on the cider. The thing with beerfest is that the stuff's so damned well kept and varied you find yourself doing that Gilly Madwoman wine thing off TV... "I'm getting chocolate, I'm getting malt" when in reality the only thing you're DEFINATELY getting is pissed. Nice to see representation from Sharps in Cornwall, Hook Norton, but I'd have to call my big winners the Earl Soham Brandeston Gold, the Brain's Reverend James and the Bartrams Soviet Stout. Excellent program and lined glass but I don't even want to THINK about how much I spent....

THE BRITISH AT PLAY

Saturday night loometh.... I was at Beerfest for the afternoon session, myself, Jon, Phil and a chap called Nick the Nice I've known since Pontious was a pilot. Ran into a friend from many moons ago, Mo Dangermouse and her excellent new friend who bears a disturbing resemblence to the chap who used to present Fingerbobs (showing my age) so some exchanging of old war stories was the order of the day for a while, before it was time to go. The main bar was closed off for an hour while they re-jigged it for live music; and then it would have been seven quid to get back in to depleted beer stock.

The downstairs bar was running out of beer fast so we popped into town for ANOTHER burger... my diet's been rubbish this break, almost entirely cooked breakfasts and proper "burger van" burgers... and then found some evening pubs. Dragged the guys out and met up with my good muckers Sarge and Big Gay Al (this is the one who's neither big, nor gay. Keep up), the Ip and the Idiot Boy. Now my choice would have been the Dove or the Fat Cat, both of which put out beer of Beerfest quality where the average pub in town does not; however I wasn't choosing the pubs though, the lads were. OK, it was real ale and Mannings was acceptable, but the Plough was pretty average (although I ran into Mr Bushy, my former works colleage and fellow Oliver Reed akolyte - don't ask - which was nice) ; the Abbott ale in the Cock and Pie might as well not bothered after 'festing. Mind you, the Bisongrass vodka "Frisky Bison's" mixer in the Vaults were jolly and superior, gonna steal that recipie.

Herein lies the bizarreness of the night... as we bumbled off to the horrid Cock and Pie we came across a post box with smoke coming out of it. Some joker's dropped a match in or similar, so Jon dials the ever popular three nines on the mobile and within minutes a large red vehicle with blue flashing lights populated by male strippers, or so it would appear turns up; chaps jump out and with powder extinguishers pour stuff into the box until it ceases smoking. What I found a little over the top, and why I like to avoid the English when I'm on holiday abroad was the numbers of drunken young women wobbling down the road, squealing and getting excited by this and grabbing jobbing firemen to have pictures taken by their mates on phonecams, or other harrassed looking firemen. It's all a bit odd. Or maybe I'm in the wrong job. But then I knew that, my lot never competed with them at the 999 nights at Brannigans.

Plenty of time to mooch around but not really time enough. Enough time to pop into the deli' and pick up some excellent cheese, some local, some not so; enough time to pop in to my friend Rob's framing shop and get my old commission popped in for preserving. But no time to mooch around the park, not enough time to see all the folks I'd have liked to. Mooched around the point out into the north sea at Landguard, Felixstowe... they've opened up more of it and restored more of the fort; the scene of the last attempted invasion of the British Isles. At least that anybody's admitting to..... then popped in on my friend Kaz just in time for her to be heading out for a late afternoon bike ride with her boy. Five minutes grummaging in the shed to dig out her brother's bike meant I was joining them and folks, there are worse ways to spend the last sunny afternoon of your break back home.

Wheels that don't turn

Righto, the state of the day. By now I should be down in Ippo with a bag full of essentials for several days away; I should have dropped off the duff cylinder head at the breakers and got two hundred quid back for it; ordered a bunch of other parts for the bike; gotten more chest dope to stop me from exploding before the medico's get the chance to entertainingly shove metal and plastic into really important bits of me. I should by this hour have met up with mates, gotten some munchies, had a glass of wine and be planning my first assault of several on the Ipswich Beer Festival, enjoying a good night.

You'll notice that this is not taking place?

Thanks to the activities of a bunch of little bastards in a net cafe in Lincoln, I've spent most of the day picking up a mate's morale who's been told via hacked email account that her best mate's dead; when in fact her best mate's in college for the day and out of reach. Half the email list have gotten these notifications, all is chaos and the poor cow concerned is totally ignorant of it and comes back to mayhem and distress everywhere. Hell, my natural place in life is shoulder to lean on but the fact is these little bastards have cost me a day, and what's more a day's leave from work, and what's more a day's leave in my hometown with my old buddies whom I hardly see anyway; these days are not without value. I am frankly not pleased.

Anyway, nice to see Jules last night. A shame we didn't have anything more fun to do, but it was good to pop in anyway and I blagged a jolly nice beer, "Fursty Ferrett" or somesuch, very much worth my time. And a little further west, found another fine pub worthy of a second visit. Wonder if it's in the guide? Don't think it's going to be, serving Black Sheep bitter from a Green King IPA beerclip, and Cains from a Directors clip, but it's a nice place and they keep ale good so I'll go back there. Even if it is full of scousers. My car's missing half it's hubcaps anyway. Ay ay ay ay!!

Here's an irony of the system...

Blank firing pistol found? Gets you three and a half years clink.

Russian armoured vehicle, SA-6 "Kub" anti aircraft missile launcher, capable of knocking down an airliner at 24 miles? One sitting imported by a collector at the docks. No restrictions whatsover.

Go figure..... coz I can't.

Plastic toys

Full action man kit last night; the full low observable gear. Black trousers and boots; armour; beany hat a'la commando; camoflaged jacket. I'd have scared the crap out myself if I'd have run into myself in a dark alley; either that or pee'd myself laughing for seeing a fat pen pusher trying to get into the SAS which let's face it, just ain't me. The work was a little full on though, following the driving fun of the night before. I'm not sure what the health and safety manual says about climbing fifty or so feet's of vertical ladders over concrete in pitch darkness when you can't show a light, but I'd hazard a guess that the answer would go something along the lines of "don't". Ah, written by puffs, they are.

Anyway, that's the night shift done. I'm knackered. I have a cunning plan for relaxation; once I've moved out of the way all the things that have to be done today, and there are many. That plan involves beer, and quite a lot of it. See, it's a good plan !

Night shift is evil and must be destroyed

Well, at least it was the most comfortable and coffee filled place I've ever been in for sneaky-peeking what the world's up to at stupid o'clock in the morning. But I still had a corpse vegetative moment, and I can comfortably say that from the sheer fatigue point of view I did not enjoy yesterday's shift one bit. And oi arrrrn't lookin' forward to the journey home noither. Ahah. Old TV ad's of our time. Remember that? Boating pond? Big storm? "Never known a noight loike it"? Actually I don't much remember the journey home, just overtaking our lad Spiderpig* at foolish'miles per hour.

*don't ask.

Not best pleased with MusMurder for waking me up at eight with much shouting and dad jumping; may have to experiment with this "closed bedroom door" concept. But as I woke up in the afternoon with him wrapped all over me asleep, that might reduce this house's cuteness concept. At least my other daytime visitor (hello hello whereever you are) had the decency to knock quietly and leave the envelope containing money (mwahahahahah) on the mat when it turned out that all was corpsed inside. This late waking business has cost me getting over to Thorne to get rid of that damned lump of non-working motorcycle that is STILL in my boot, damn the busy fairies, hateful that they are.

Food music

Y'know, there are those that would argue that having curry for breakfast is foolish; that a big plate of bhaji's for lunch is un-necessary and that another curry for supper is over-egging the pudding.

But those people are tired of life.

And are probably short of bog paper.

And have more varied food in the fridge than me.

Popped into the Station Hotel for a bevvy on the way home; Old Peculier, mmmmm. Must be mellowing in my old age, managed to sit through the kareoke night without feeling the urge to run anyone through with a broken golf club. So here's the kareoke headgame.... OK, most women sing in pairs and neither has the confidence or aggression to go for it as they should; I can see that's probably related to the "why do women go to the toilet in groups" question. But why do groups of blokes get up to sing a song and then just hoot and howl like guys in a football crowd? Do they think it's freelance; edgy; heady? Do they think it's funny? Do they think it's good to listen too? Mr Oik, it just shows you up to be the idiot that your wearing of a football shirt with someone elses name on it implies that you might be.

Crunch

No more scurrying for YOU mister. Chalk up another one for the exterminator of the family Muridae. A gift outside the bedroom door, a curtailed "jumping on dad with bonus shouting" session as he was excited, and off after more. Ah bless.

Strolled past the emporium of all things camera'y, which is normally a dangerous thing; went in to get the sensor on Bosscam2 hoovered out, it sucks in dust like a jet engine. While I was there, I was offered a go with a second hand toy and I can now say I've now strapped the most ridiculous and silly thing I've ever seen onto the front of my camera and even if I'd have had £1800 knocking about which I haven't, it would have been classed as silly. For the tecchy out there... 400 mm fixed telephoto lens; f2.8. This is a professional sports lens, six grand new and is just extreme, silly and for a camera'y bloke, really quite tempting. Basically a long telephoto; with a huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuge lens at the end to let in ALL the light in the world to give the sillyshort shutter speeds that I like. Even for me, shooting by hand would be impossible, the thing weighs a ton... a serious piece of glass and metal. Heavy monopod required for everything. Transport by backpack required to get it to where the action is. Tempting though. Y'know, sometimes poverty protects you! The lads in there are trying to convince me that it's time to upgrade Bosscam2 to a EOS40... not quite sure I see the need just yet, tempting as it is to have another shiny new toy.

And this morning, kippers are the order of the day. Or smoked codheads at least, considering that the old Birds Eye factory burned down last night in a very big way... apparently a fine and jolly conflagration... I'm wondering if I should rename the locals. Wandered down with a pack of sausages, a toasting fork and a camera but by the time I got told about it, everything was damping down. Excitement (and BBQ'ing option) was small. Damn. Actually considering hosting a small one here next month.... do autumn barbies suck? I'm not sure, I've never done one. Is my barbie still actually functional under that tarp in the garden? Can I do enough housework in a month to get this place presentable for real human guests? Only the shadow knows......

My god, get me out of here !!

I'm going native !!!!!

I swear I mean't to say in conversation "it's not suprising the way I treat it"; not "the way I tret that engine". Oh my. That's 100 per cent pure codhead. The rot's set in. It's time to get out !!

Took the car for another evening rumble around the roads; I'd have preferred the bike but that's a non starter, literally. Which, as an aside is more than can be said for the gay coloured Honda, still languishing on my lawn while I arrange a final solution for it... hasn't been run for four and a half months, had to be moved a few feet but had rutted down. Pushing the thing wasn't working, no way so in desparation I gave the key a tweak. Fired third time. Into gear, through seized brakes and straight into position. My dog, Honda build 'em well. Anyway, digressing away; back to the summer roads, another song I really shouldn't put anywhere near my stereo when it's time for rapidity is "Wind Up" by the Foo Fighters". More second and third gear 1.8 shenannigans on twisty turny corners, what laughs! Oh hooligan boy. Behave yourself. It's not big and it's not clever. OK, it is.

Oh, and heads up to Jules; jolly beer kiddo, we must do that more often. An ear and the folding down seats if you need 'em. xx

Damn !!

That's one very expensive lump of bogus metal sitting in the boot of my car right now.... the dash to retrieve big lumps of correctly processed and turned mineral alloys to strap to my bike's eviscerated engine now seems to have hit the skids. The replacement cylinder head from the breakers with all associated gubbins, upon stripping for inspection and fitting has a hole burned / blown / otherwise stuck in the the exhaust port, in other words not where a hole should definately not be. Damn, damn damn. And again I say damn. That's money to be recovered, and another large lump of metal to be sourced, from somewhere. Damn!! I'll be lucky if this thing is running by christmas !!

R.I.P

Another bad day in the house of my good old buddy Jon and his good lady, Shezza....

Another cat down. Haven't had time to get over poor Kenny duffing up the locals for the last time when Bob the Cat ups and shuffles off this mortal coil for similar health reasons. Poor sods are gutted.

But up in heaven, rest assured with the three that have gone up of late, the ghosts of mice are having an awful time....

Bring out the freaks

Must be the summer for them.

Leaving Mablethorpe.... oh classy town... Sunday evening. There for the purpose of paying a visit to a mate of mine who's having a family holiday in that place. The light's just started to take that slightly golden quality of evening, autumn's clearly on the way in. That's "Fall" to any Yanks reading this, ok? Got away from the beach and away from the crowds, approaching the edge of town where I spotted a slim figure on the right side of the car looking as if to cross the road, short denim skirt and a khaki vest top. Oh-ho says I, might be worth wasting a glance on. Only to spot a bloke in his fifties in drag complete with moustache and what looked suspiciously like NHS specs, and he MIGHT have been wearing a flat cap, but I couldn't swear to it, my mind might have placed that for comedy completeness.

Oh my. There's nowt so folk as queers.

From the mouths of babes

To the list of "Conversations I never want to have with my mate's thirteen year old or for that matter anybody else's either" you can add the following; the "What's a butt plug?" question.

Also, having dodged that particular bullet, and seeing that said child has returned to conference with his younger brother, the next thing you want to hear from the child in a public place surrounded by other families is NOT the following phrase shouted at a around hundred and fifty decibels....

"OI, I KNOW WHAT IT IS NOW, IT'S A DILDO FOR SHOVING UP YOUR ARSE!!!"

The phrase "GAH!" springs to mind.....

White City

Ah, discovered another song I shouldn't drive to under any circumstances. This under appreciated eighties gem from that OTHER under appreciated eighties gem, Thomas Dolby.... always two steps to the left, I've been a very big fan of the bloke ever since his bespectacled freak science appeal appeared at the time; everybody else ignored, I tuned in and they thought I was daft. Probably was. No matter.

This narcotics ridden synth' heavyweight... here's my recipe for enjoyment. Find yourself mobile on four wheels in the countryside on a summers evening, heading east towards the sea. Pop "The Flat Earth" CD in the machine, get the opener "Dissidents" out of the way, 'coz I rather like that song, skip forward a couple of tracks to #4 and crank the volume up 'til the speakers protest. Open the windows, drop a gear or so, up the rev's and make the tyres work for their money. Then hit the "back" button and repeat the experience several times. At this point a smiley face would be appropriate, 'coz the grin on my face is six miles wide and what I believe the Americans refer to as "shit eating". And if somebody can explain that metaphor to me one day in a way that makes sense, I'd be grateful. Hey, I had a good time, nobody died and I arrived where I was supposed to be bang on time.

Bits. And bits in bits.

And before we start, did you hear that they're having to get a specialist hearse in to handle Pavarotti?

A Nissan Dormer.

Ahem. Aye thenk you.

Well, the world's most expensive envelope has just landed in my hand courtesy of the smiley mailman; a hundred quid's worth of engine gaskets to be used in the recommencement of making my engine lovely again. And I must hit the road and pick up an enormous lump of Japanese metal from Thorne which also must be bolted onto the DeadZed soon. Yay! Zoominiess!

Big fat pile of nothing

I've not been into work for four days.... hoped to make it in today but no, and frankly if I had tits I'd be bored out of them. Luckily a double rest day period looms, so not in again til Wednesday anyway, should be nice and chilled with an enormously overflowing in-tray by the time I get back.

Sooooooooooooooo, plan for tonight.

Was going to see The Hamsters, an old favorite of mine who are playing York tonight. But somehow a sixty mile drive doesn't appeal at this time of day and it's way too late now anyway to leave - the GPS for that route is absurdly optimistic, should have left at five thirty, no later. Was going to be a solo night out anyway, those are about as much fun as root canal work. I've always said that enjoyment of something is halved by not sharing it. Think I'll save the notes, as truly funky as a night out up north would have been. I'll stroll out to the beach instead.

Pavvo

RIP to the big man. Here are some of the responses from the wags on my fav' newsgroup....

"Do we fell a forest to bury him or go for cremation & give the ozone layer a hammering?"

"Cremation? The man's self-basting!"

"Burial at sea? Oh no, the sea levels are already rising; what aboutfiring him off into space? Or would that be a bit risky if it knocked the moon's orbit out of true?"

"Can't we just turn him into bio-fuel and slash the price of a gallon of unleaded due to the glut?"

"Give him to a family from the Faroe islands. He would keep them in food and fuel for a winter."

"They could just hollow him out and live inside."

"Render the fat f*cker down and flog the result to the local pizza shop."

"Sheds R Us would be a cheaper option than a coffin maker"

"The Three Tenors are down to twenty quid."

"Domingo has relaunched himself as a baritone so make that £10"

Tsk, they just don't appreciate art in that place.......

A kind of inevitability

...but still a damned shame. With my pedant hat on, I'm not sure that "losing a fight with cancer" is the right way to sum it up; that fight was lost seven years ago with the terminal confirmation... her struggle was how to face the remainder of her time, and that she did with bigger balls than a two hundred foot solid brass statue of a Buffalo. I'd say she won that one.

And elsewhere today in news of the weird....

And news of the yuk.....

And back to news of the cute....

They tried to make me go to rehab, I said "let's do lunch and talk about your really very sensible suggestion"

Until I realised that yesterday's bad head wasn't a hangover after all.

Actually, to paraphrase Peggy Lee's classic, "fever all through the night" hasn't a lot to recommend it; and calling in sick when you're supposed to be co-ordinating the morning's activity on your project site at work rings about as true as a naked lodger standing in the landlady's wardrobe complaining that the laundrette's not delivered his bag. Full on lurgy, what I believe the girls call "man flu" except I'm not faking it, and I went for the stupid superhero route and went into work anyway. That might have been a mistake. If things don't improve tomorrow moring, I think I'll unplug the phones and stay in bed.

Euro Pubbo Grimbo cultural seekings?

Of course, when I say I'd like to be in the pub, the pubs up here are only SO desireable. If I'm honest, what I'd really like and what I should have said is to be sat in a pub somewhere else, not here. Somewhere warm and nice. Like, to take an example by Blejsko jezero, the Bar Preseren'd do just fine. On the tables outside, the sunset filtering through the trees by the lake as you watch fat german tourists punted about on the pletna's; waiter service for a handled mug of "the green one". And a nice pasta'y something coming out of the kitchen that's never seen a microwave, or a cream slice with about a million calories in it. And where you're able to leave the bill for your tab on the table without some sports shirt wearing bastard from the 'Nunny gypping it within seconds to fund his evening's smack habit; going up to the bar everytime is just so northern european and ... gah!

Under the circumstances though, I thought the Tap and Spile'll do.

Except that the Tap and Spile involves having to listen to the middled aged dreadful voiced woman who's aim for the evening is to bitch and gripe about the fact that someone dares pinch her place in the pool table queue; that the outdoor seating is somewhat less expansive than I remembered; the light was on the other side of the building and the river Freshney that runs outside is frankly stagnant and smelly. The Barge was right out... at half past five, on a nice summer's evening with trees to sit in the shade of, they've got Fear Factory coming out of the door at jaw grinding intensity. I like Fear Factory, but there's a time and a place, this is neither. Just seems to compound the urban dispair of those who walk through the doors later in the evening. So that won't be me. It's starting to get desparate; I walk past a lot of pubs and none of them are doing it for me; inadvertantly I walk past a decent bit of culture; the Fisherman's memorial. I like it. Good god, something about this place that gets an approval rating. I generally find myself disliking the place these days, but then I dislike most towns, why discriminate. Why can't they do nice maisionettes in the country?

As I walk through the town centre, I want a cultural drinking experience; chucking it down my neck by the gallon with the proles, numbing the pain of their existance is not what's doing it for me tonight. A pint of Tom Woods Bomber County is not dulling my pain either; I will generally get sucked in by any such marketting in the form of tribute I consider deserved and WW2 themes are a fav'; but tonight's pint was overmalted mud water. Not what the doctor ordered. Actually he'd probably order a complete end to all ale based jollies. He's no fun.

Cleethorpes is out of bounds; by the time I get there for beer on the beach, it'll be time to catch the last train home again, or the expensive taxi which misses the point entirely.

Ally's winebar saves the day. Down a little upmarket shopping arcade that survives the nastyness because it's gated. External speakers playing nice music, nice bricked pavement, perfect garden chairs, tables and brollies, all it needs is a water feature. Blow up the right drain on the right car park and it could even get one. Bled it ain't but for tonight it'll do; got my big pretentious newspaper; my big pretentious paperback and ye gods, the large white wine glasses are filled and kicking me in the head as per advertised. A shame I had to muck it up by having a kebab on the way home. Should I get "don't serve me, I don't really like your muck" tattoo'd on my forehead in Turkish?

How queer !

And before you sniff, yes I am archaic enough in my use of language to deliberately use that word in it's original context, just to wind people up !!

Upon return from the mornin's amusement at the fun factory I notice that someone's drawn a large smiley face, "hi hi" and "love you" in the dust on the bonnet of my car. Now, apart from the fact that I know damned well that nobody does, and I'm really comfortable with that; that's a really really weird thing to do! Maybe Gizmo's getting really clever and is showing gratitude for the fact that I gave him the rest of the can of tuna that I didn't put on my baked potato yesterday?

And on that note, it's a gorgeous afternoon. I feel the pull of the pub. Don't you? Housework can go stuff itself. But then, can't it always.