Good-bye, Meat...

Dear Meat

I cherish and worship you with all of my soul. You are beautiful and delicious and I have adored you since the first time I tasted you. I relish every moment that we spend together. The meals we have shared are truly the happiest times of my life.

So it is with heaviness in my heart that I leave you now, for a whole month. I will dream of you every night. I already long for the day that that we can be together again. When we are apart, I have an aching hole inside me.

Even though I am in such lovelorn pain at our parting, I know that we will be together again in a few short weeks and that our separation will only serve to make my love for you stronger and our eventual reunion a joyous and passionate event.

I take my leave of you now, though it pains me.

I love you.

Your greatest and dearest paramour,

Darren.

A Very Large Cup Of Tea In Poole

Okay, I'll come clean. It's not really a cup of tea. It's a novelty garden tub for, like plants and shit.

Today we were disappointed by the selection of toys in the Poole branch of Toys R Us and then went to Poole Harbour where we found the giant cup and climbed up to a slightly grubby viewing platform where we viewed a view that looked quite a lot like this:



(This photo was not actually taken today. I actually took it a couple of months ago, when it was much, much warmer! It was from the same spot, though.)

Several cups of tea were ingested during the day as well as waffles, eggs, burgers and other tasty things.

And then we came home to the boys, who were pleased to see us. As I write this, Rochester is snuggled up in the bed next to me, nestled under the covers, and gently cradling my left arm while Dexter moans in pleasure at the bottom of the bed. It's not as erotic as it sounds on account of them being cats.

Still haven't heard anything from the elusive Emms who, you may recall, stood us up on Friday night. Hope she's okay...

In Which Dr K Does Not Pee In The Bushes And We Encounter A Retarded Parking Meter

After a maHOOsive fry up in a cafe in Westbourne with some very suspect Dhaliesque paintings on the walls, Dr K, Stut and I headed down to Hengistbury Head, one of my old favourite places.

But on the way, we made a brief stop off at the mighty Chick King in Southbourne:


This may not look like much to the untrained eye, but to a learned historian, specialising in Bashley Caravan Park history circa 1993, it will be immediately obvious that this is the legendary Chick King burger joint that was frequented of an evening by Swin, Wale, Honey and other great figures, including myself, after a late shift!

Visits to this establishment were often followed by a trip to Christchurch where the 'Gribblies' of the Highlander nightclub (the only one in town) were treated to a view of one or both of Swin's buttocks.

This was considered a great honour, particularly if you had only popped out of the club to vomit on the pavement or pick a fight with the bouncer.

Anyway, back on topic.

It was very cold at Hengistbury Head. We walked up to the top of the head and enjoyed the view:



and then walked back down the other side.

Dr K was busting for a pee, so we ventured into a cafe by the beach and drank tea, while she enjoyed the rare luxury of a surprise unisex toilet.

And then we went to Southampton where we met my brother and failed to eat steak.

Finally back in Bournemouth, after failing to find any parking in the prison car park (one of the many problems with cheap shitty centre hotels) we had to resort to paid street parking. We attempted to feed the parking meter the required £3, only to have it spat back in our faces, along with an extra quid and a ticket dispensed for twice the time that we'd intended to pay for anyway!

I can only assume that this parking meter had escaped from the local Special Needs School for Retarded and Otherwise Mental Parking meters!

Bournemouthgate

It was supposed to be a fun trip down south to see friends and family.



Did I say fun? So far it's been something of a disappointment.

About half way down, we had to stop off because I was supposed to dial into a teleconference set up by new bosses, bosses boss (that is to say that the bosses bosses boss was new, rather than the first boss; am I even making sense? No? Oh well). Turns out I had the time wrong and missed it by an hour.

On the plus side, we did find a little cafe that let me guard their cakes for a while:




So, upon arriving in sunny Bournemouth (which wasn't nearly as sunny as advertised) it turned out that I booked the wrong hotel (I maintain that it was a conspiracy by the hotel company and that I did it right). We were politely turned away by a helpful foreign gentleman from the cheap and cheerful hotel a little way out of town that we turned up at, as it seems that the booking was made (by the hotelier conspiracy) for it's cheap and cheerless sister hotel in the centre of town.

You know the hotel that every town has; that's used by drunken weekend clubbers and resembles some sort of minimum security prison for white collar criminal smokers who steal from old ladies. Yeah? That one.

It didn't help that the helpful foreign gentleman told us that the town centre hotel was somewhere that it wasn't. We drove around for quite a while before we actually found it. Given that I know the Bournemouth area fairly well, having grown up in the area, it begs the question: are you actually lost if you know where you are but don't know where you're going?

So I decided to cheer myself up by popping to the shops and dropping in on a good friend who worked in a little computer shop in the high street. That didn't work, because he'd called in sick that day.

So I danced by the pier instead:



It amused me a little bit, but wasn't really as satisfying as winding up a mate in his place of work.

Never mind. The day was going to end on an awesome note, because we were meeting another old friend for a curry. An old friend who stood us up.

Bum holes.

Hopefully it was nothing serious keeping her away - we tried phoning and text-messaging and facebook-messaging to no avail.

It was a damn good curry though. Although I'd advise against duck tikka - not because it's unpleasant or anything, but because it pretty much tastes the same as everything else tikka, only a little bit fattier. Have chicken instead.

I'm back in the pris... er, hotel now. Hopefully Dr K can think of some way to cheer me up.

Mmm... T214...

Tomorrow should bring a brother and a steak. Yay.

Dazza Vs The Laptop Of Doom

I've just watched iTunes take 2 hours to install. 2 HOURS, goddam it! I hate you, Steve Jobs (although I hope you feel better soon... I don't hate you that much!)

Because I'm a lovely, lovely chap, I acquired a second hand laptop for a computerless mate and spent a couple of evenings reformatting it, upgrading it and generally preparing it for his first use. It's that last bit that's taken so long and caused me so much emotional trauma!

Downloading and installing antivirus stuff, drivers and iTunes with all its associated rebooting and progress bars and whatnot has taken all bloody evening! Bah!

I hate this laptop and hope I never see it again!

Okay... Rant over. And, yes. I will be leaving that terrifying image as his wallpaper! Heh heh heh...

This weekend I'm down on the South Coast visiting friends and a brother. With Veguary coming up, it's my plan to eat as much meat as I can, cos I'm about to suffer a loooooooong month without it!

Curry and steak and bacon. In any combination! I'm not fussy, I just want MEAT!!!

Om nom nom...

T200

Today I drank my 200th cuppa of the year. Look, here's me drinking it in bed:


It was delicious.

Veguary seems to be quite a popular idea. Not that anyone else wants to take part* but they're all quite keen on the idea of me doing it. There's a 50:50 split on whether I can go a month without eating a corpse.

(*to be fair, Dr K will be participating by default as I prepare all her meals, but she's a closet vegetarian anyway, so it doesn't count!)

Veguary?

I've pretty much spent January eating crap. It was all very tasty crap. A lot of the crap that I ate was chips.

Mmm... chips...

In order to make up for a month of eating crap, I thought I might spend a month eating nothing but good, wholesome food. No sweets or crisps or cakes. No greasy, fried things. No curry. And, purely for the thrill of it, no meat.

Yes, you read that right. A month of vegetarianism. Vegetarian February. Veguary.

I love meat. I rarely go a day without eating some sort of dead animal. Going for a whole month without it is going to be... interesting. I may not even manage it.

I may get so desperate for meat, that I eat one of my cats in my sleep. If I do, I hope it's Dexter.


It'll certainly give me something to write about. And I imagine that it'll amuse the hell out of my friends and family!

Where's My Weekend?

Do you have my weekend?

I seem to have mislaid it. I'm pretty sure I had it on Friday night, but now I just can't find it anywhere. For a while, this morning, I thought one of the cats had stolen it, but weekends are quite a lot bigger than cats.

As efficient a murderer as he is, I don't think Dexter could have taken a whole weekend. A morning maybe. or a quiet evening in, but not a whole weekend.

It would all be just too much effort for Rochester.

I've asked around a bit, but no-one's seen it. In fact several other people are missing their weekend as well. It's like there's been some sort of mass weekend thievery. I'm actually quite surprised it hasn't made the news!

Filling Dr K's Hole

You lot all have filthy, filthy minds.

The hole I filled today was in the side of the house and I filled it with quick drying external polyfiller. I had to climb a ladder and everything.

I'm so brave!

Sadly, due to an excess of inactivity, there is very little else of interest to report, so in order to maintain the innuendo in this post, here is a picture of Dr K gobbling a giant hot-dog:

...and chips

Today I lost a cheeseburger.

I don't want you to think I'm a bad burger-owner or anything. It wasn't my fault. I mean I went to the chip shop and ordered a regular cod and chips with a pea fritter, and a quarter pound cheeseburger with chips. I saw them cook it and everything. But by some amazing sleight of hand - it may have been a camera trick - the burger wasn't in my chip shop bag when I got home.

Can you even imagine the trauma that I'm suffering?

No, I don't think you can.

So Dr K got a delicious (well, delicious to her anyway) fish and chips supper, and I got... Well... And chips.

Not a quarter pound cheeseburger with chips. Nope. It was nothing and chips. Nada and chips. Zilch and chips. Fuck all and fucking chips!

In other news, I was at Stead's today filming bits and pieces for a new music video. While I was there, I witnessed something quite horrific. Marmite in a bacon sandwich.

I know, I know. I almost puked. Without even being squeezed.

(p.s. did you notice how I found another use for one of the foods I drew for the mighty food chart?)

Dirty Little Bastard

It turns out that it wasn't my squeezy cuddles that brought on Dexter's puking incident the other day:



Yeah, that's right. He's been drinking from the toilet.

Pissy water. Bleachy water. He ain't fussy. He likes it all because he's a horrible little piss guzzling, bog sponging, urine gargling, filthy little tramp!

Nob.

Verbing

So today I have decided to grumble about the recent encroachment of verbing. What brought this on, you ask? Well, two things, really.

Firstly, I've noticed a lot of people referring to 'inboxing' on Facebook. It usually takes the form of 'I'll inbox you the details' or 'inbox me the directions' or something like that.

But the final straw came when someone said it to me in a teleconference yesterday. Obviously, I maliciously refused to understand what he was asking me to do until he spoke properly. It went something like this:

Me: I'm half way through the analysis of that.
Dick: Can you inbox me when you're done?
Me: What, now?
Dick: Yeah, if you could inbox the results to me, that would be great.
Me: I'm sorry. This must be a bad line. That sounded a lot like gibberish.
Dick: INBOX. ME. THE. RESULTS.
Me: It's not the line is it?
Dick: Um...
Me: I'm going to tea.

He wasn't really called Dick. It was more of a job title.

Don't I have anything better to do?

Counting teas. Drawing graphs. Writing inane blog posts. People seem to think that I spend a lot more time on this stuff than I actually do.

For example, when I mention the number of teas I've drunk this year, the second* thing that people say is 'Don't you have anything better to do? How do you have time to count your teas?'.

Well, duh. Of course I have better things to do. Almost everything I do is better then that. Like drinking the tea, for example! Drinking the tea is one of my favourite things.

The fact is that I use a counter on my phone, and it takes all of about a second to add one to the tally. I'm on 140 teas, which equates to 140 seconds, which is less than three minutes counting my teas so far this year. If you can't find three minutes a month to do something that amuses you, then you've got more to worry about than the nonsense that I fill my time with!

Similarly, the various graphs and diagrams of the last week or so generated the comment 'Busy year at work so far then?'

This stuff really doesn't take that long to put together. Maybe it takes everyone else ages, but not me. And I generally do it whilst watching TV, irritating Dr K or cooking or something, which is more than a lot of people seem capable of. I was cooking a sumptuous feast of chicken kievs and chips as I wrote this and it took maybe 10 minutes. The picture below took about the same amount of time as the first half of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. I know this because I was watching it as I drew (they've just escaped from the airship).

The point is, I probably spend less time creating original content than other people seem to spend forwarding 'hilarious' e-mails to their friends.

The only conclusion I can draw from all of this is that I am much, much more awesome than everyone else, as illustrated in the picture below.



* The first thing people say is 'That's a lot of tea', which is patently untrue. So they just look foolish.

What happens if you squeeze a cat...?

Turns out that if you squeeze a cat too much, it pukes. Yup. Who knew?

I'm not some sort of psychotic, cat-squeezing, puke fetishist. No it all came about from a series of improbable events. And by 'improbable', I mean 'entirely predictable, if not inevitable'.

See, Dexter has always had this very annoying habit of meowing loudly, insistently and at some considerable length when he wants something, which is what inspired me to add Rule #27:

Loud and insistent meowing will be interpreted as a request for an enormous squeezy cuddle and will be responded to as such for a duration of at least 30 seconds.

So, after scoffing a bowl of biscuits in about 12 seconds flat (just in case, y'know, the wolves try to take them away or something), Dex started meowing quite loudly and quite insistently and at some considerable length by the back door.

This would normally indicate that he wants to go out, presumably to murder some innocent passing rodent. Not being one to pander to the whims of a cat, I simply ignored him. He continued to meow. Loudly. Insistently. And, indeed, at some considerable length.

So I invoked Rule #27.

Needless to say, Dex did not like this one bit. Normally he would communicate his displeasure by halfheartedly struggling and making little squeaky noises, which I would ignore, applying lots of squeezy, cuddly love.

This time, however, he growled. Quite a lot. Which, of course I interpreted as grumpiness on his part on account of not getting his way. And of course I squeezily cuddled him even more.

When I eventually put him down, he vomited. Which explains why he was making such a fuss.

Poor old Dexter.

Here's a proper picture of the stripy little bastard, because apparently he doesn't get enough screen time. Note the lack of vomit.

The Food Chart

There was some talk after the Fish/Curry venn diagram a couple of days ago about how food should be rated. To that end, I did a little bit of spreadsheet magic to produce a graph. Not just any graph, though... a scatter graph!

See what I've done there? I've plotted the frequency with which I eat the item of food on the X exis and it's tastiness (to me, anyway) on the Y axis.

Ok, scatter graphs are awesome, but this one just doesn't really do it for me. It's just kinda boring. So I drew some food and plastered it on like this:

And then, because I'm like that, I made Dr K fill in a little form and plotted her food chart, too.

Click on the charts for lovely big versions!

A Few Photos

I haven't really got anything prepared to write about today. I haven't done anything. I've been slobbing around the house in my dressing gown.

So thought I'd post a few lovely photos...



This is Rochester in the sink. Ain't he cute? See how he fills it! He came in and curled up in there this morning while I had a number two. I think he just wanted the company!



This is a picture I took half way though trimming my super-bushy beard at the beginning of the year. I thought it made me look like a creepy redneck. Even more so after I added the grungy black and white effect!


This is a photo of Dr K. Well... Actually, it's a photo of a window. But she is there, honest!


While we were enjoying a lovely cuppa in a cafe in Thornbury, Dr K noticed a picture of me on the wall and insisted on photographing me with it. It's a good likeness, don't you think?

There. I think that'll do for today!

I Was Stitched Up

Two very good friends stitched me up big time today. They preyed upon my good nature and natural obligingness to convince me to go to the local shopping centre - on a Saturday afternoon, mind - so that they could buy food in Marks & Spencer.

It was horrible.

First, in their infinite wisdom, the 'Traffic Management' people decided to cone off random bits of the car park which meant we had to park in the worst possible space, 400 miles from the place we wanted to be. There were a million people per square foot, all thronging around me, desperately trying to spend their money on shit. And there was nothing there I wanted.

It probably doesn't sound all that bad, but you really shouldn't underestimate the sheer hatred I have for that place.

But because I am a lovely chap, I forgive them. Also, they bought me tea and cake in John Lewis.

In other news, Dr K caught me sleeping with a 15 year old boy. I won't deny it because she took a photo:

A Fish Supper

Tonight I was introduced to a lady who prefers fish to curry. I don't think we're going to get on.

EDIT: I've prepared a diagram to help her, and anyone else in any doubt, understand the the issues involved in preferring fish to curry:

T100 Day

Today marks a momentous occasion. Today will go down in history as a great day for humanity. Today was T100 Day!

That's right. Today, at around 2.45, courtesy of my boss' boss, I drank my 100th tea of 2011.


You'll note that I took my favourite Union Flag pint mug into work to help me commemorate the occasion and drew a celebratory picture in my work notepad, which was further decorated by some shiny party confetti, contributed by a workmate.

I'd like to thank all of the people who have made me tea this year, for making this feat possible. I love you all. But not as much as I love tea.

A Fishy Post

While I was away in sunny London yesterday, an amusing conversation took place back in Bristol. It was relayed to me by a workmate and took place in the canteen:

Man: What's on the menu today?
Dinner Lady: Fish.
Man: Mmm. What sort of fish?
Dinner Lady: Well we have normal fish and we have fish goujons.
Man: Goujons? What are they?
Dinner Lady: Umm... Small fish.

In case you need further clarification, please see the diagram below:

Dazza vs The Conference

Today I had the great pleasure of attending a works conference. One of those things they put on once a year in a posh five star hotel in London and get in all the bosses and the odd celebrity guest in the hope that we'll feel all special.

I suppose the most important thing I took away from the event was not that the company values me (although not enough to put me up in the posh five star hotel in London - how about this slightly dingy three star one instead?) or any sort of inspiration from the somewhat irrelevant (although admittedly very entertaining) Olympic medallist, or even any sense that the men in charge of my ultimate destiny know what they're doing; but that posh five star hotels in London serve their tea in very small cups.

On the plus side, they did serve up mini cream teas mid-afternoon, so I can pretty much forgive them anything. Look, here they are:

Dazza vs The Tea

So far, I've drunk 78 cups of tea in 2011.

Every time I mention the amount of tea I drink, people react in shock. Apparently 78 drinks in 10 days is a lot. Or is it?

That’s an average of nearly 8 cups a day. At an estimated 1/2 pint a cup, that’s 4 pints of tea a day plus a couple of waters/juices depending on availability and/or inclination. So, maybe 5 pints of drink a day, which only a little more than the 4 and a bit pints (2.5 litres) recommended by World Health Organisation.

Given that tea is quite good for you, with plenty of vitamins and antioxidants and free radicals and other stuff, and hasn't been written off as a diuretic for quite while now, I don’t think it’s unreasonable.

Rochester vs The Bacon

My cat really likes bacon. He has some sort of bacon radar (which I suspect he keeps in his nose) that alerts him to the presence of bacon the instant it's exposed to the air.

Case in point. The other day, I cooked us a lovely fry-up. Rochester was asleep in the next room. I took all of the ingredients out of the fridge. The bacon was plastic wrapped. Started cooking the sausages. There were no cats in the room.

Next up, I took the kitchen scissors out of the drawer. Still no cats.

Then I cut into the bacon wrapper. Within moments of the bacon molecules being freed into the general atmosphere, there he was, at my feet, shouting for a taste of the lovely, lovely bacon.

I say 'shouting'. Rochester doesn't actually make much noise when he meows. Normally, he just kind of mimes. When he's really desperate he manages a strangled little squeak. That's what he was doing. (I've been trying to catch him doing it on video for years, but he's really camera-shy!)

Anyway... Rochester loves bacon. Can't really blame him!

How to grade a fart (or burp)

As recently detailed in the House Rules, bodily expulsions of gas, whether oral or anal should be graded. To assist with this, I propose the attached grading structure:

Either one, two or three points are awarded for each of the duration, stinkiness and hilariousness of the burp or fart, with one extra point awarded if it's wet. So, in order to achieve a full ten out of ten, one must achieve a lengthy, eye-bleedingly stinky, LMAO inducing wet one.

Got that?

It didn't start well...

This morning did not start well.

I arrived at work to find that both of the drinks machines on my floor were knackered. No tea for me until the canteen opened an hour later. You know how I like my tea. Perpetual and uninterrupted. (57, by the way, if anyone cares.)

Next up, I broke my system access. In order to get it restored, I needed one of my workmates to purge me. Problem with that was that no-one else was in. It was 7am, after all.

Fortunately one of them was logged in and working from home. So I sent her a text message.

Unfortunately, I'm a massive idiot and, rather than texting the colleague that was up and working, I texted the one that was not only on holiday and having a lie in but feeling a bit poorly, too (yeah, I pretty much gave everyone I know that flu bug!). So she was pleased about being woken up at 7 o'clock.

On the plus side, we did conclude that wrapping a toad in mustard soaked dock leaves and balancing it on your head whilst soaking your feet in cauliflower juice and rubbing strawberry yoghurt into your chest is as effective a cold remedy as anything else.

So that's good.

The House Rules

A friend of mine has recently posted a set of house rules on his fridge. Everybody needs some hilarious house rules, so here are mine!

Watermill Hall Rules
By Darren & Karen (D & K)

General

1. The property in which D & K reside shall be formally referred to as Watermill Hall, despite the fact that it is not in fact known as Watermill Hall by anyone and is not a hall or, indeed a watermill.

2. Bodily expulsion of gasses should be graded on a scale of one to ten based upon volume, duration, odour and hilariousness. Please see the separate grading structure for details.

3. Ghostbusters will be quoted or referenced as often as possible.

4. Hair must not be brushed in the hallway.

5. The lounge is a shared space and no one seat is allocated to any individual. Therefore, seat users must move to a different seat each hour on the hour. You may not later return to a seat that you have previously occupied. If you run out of seats to move to, you have outstayed your welcome.

6. Shoes are optional, except on Tuesdays in March.

7. Darren's singing is awesome, even when it's not.

8. Batman is a proper hero about whom many and varied stories can be told. Due to his godlike power set, Superman is bereft of dramatic potential without the introduction of cheap deus ex machina tricks, which is just lazy writing.

9. K is a scientist, which means she almost certainly knows better than you.

TV, Technology and Gadgets

10. The Sky Box is the sole responsibility of D. Technical faults, missed programmes and accidental glimpses of Eastenders are almost certainly the result of wilful negligence by D and should be treated with a level of displeasure appropriate to the seriousness of the infraction.

11. Whenever a non-supporting male actor appears on TV, male viewers must ask female viewers if they would 'bang that'.

12. Whenever a non-supporting female actor appears on TV, female viewers must ask male viewers if they would 'bang that'.

13. Ghostbusters will be watched.

14. You can wait for the ad break.

15. The Chuck Dance, or any other theme tune based frolicking, cavorting or boogieing should not be interrupted. Nor should it be used as an opportunity to steal food or other items from the dancer.

16. D loves gadgets. So should you.

17. If you leave your laptop, phone or tablet device logged into Facebook, you should expect to be Facebook Raped. It's one of the unwritten laws of physics.

18. Please do not rest your feet on the ceiling. It is one if the more expensive parts of the house and we do not want to damage it, do we?

19. Things should be placed in boxes wherever possible.

Food, Beverages and the Kitchen

20. Any ambulatory movement by any person in the direction of the kitchen should be acknowledged with the phrase 'yes please'. If available, an empty mug should be extended in the direction of the kitchen visitor.

21. The kitchen is only big enough for one person at a time. Therefore, whenever D is cooking, K must engage in multiple kitchen activities to include, but not be limited to, preparing a hot water bottle or opening cupboards and drawers.

22. D should always attempt to dry-hump K while she is washing up.

23. Tea must be provided to D in the largest mug available.

24. You do not have to ask D if he wants a cup of tea. The answer is always 'yes' with only one exception: D will not want a cup of tea while he is pooing. A nice fresh post-poo cuppa, however will always be appreciated.

25. Meals prepared by D are delicious and exactly the right size.

26. The kitchen closes at 8.30 pm for a period of exactly 1 second. During this time, no meals, snacks or beverages may be prepared. The kitchen will reopen for business as usual at 8.30 and one second with the caveat that spoons should be operated with the left hand.

Cats

27. Loud and insistent meowing will be interpreted as a request for an enormous squeezy cuddle and will be responded to as such for a duration of at least 30 seconds.

28. Room and board will be provided in exchange for lap-sitting, cuddles and general cuteness.

29. Stinky poos should be saved for the most inconvenient times. Examples include just after lights-out or when a plumber, electrician or other vocational tradesman is working in the next room. Note: the stinkier, the better.

30. Birds and small mammals, whether dead or barely alive are not appropriate gifts. Chocolate or wine is much better.



Disclaimer: strict adherence to these rules should not be observed. These rules may change at any time and may be changed by any person and interpreted by any other person in any way. Your home is at risk if you do not keep up repayments on a mortgage or other loan secured upon it.

Dr K vs the Flu

Poor old Dr K is suffering terribly. It may be bird flu, swine flu or some other random animal based flu. But it's most likely Dazza Flu.

That's right. I've infected her with the lurgy. And what a lurgy it is! It knocked me out for a few days before Christmas and now Dr K is laid up in bed with a fever and achey bits.

Sorry, Kaz.

In more important news, here comes cuppa 42. Profound, huh?

Steve Jobs wants me to do WHAT to the Beautiful South?

I think Steve Jobs has it in for me. Almost every time I send a message from one of my Apple Devices, he feels the need to step in and make 'helpful' alterations with the spell check function.

Case in point: Today I sent a message to some friends on Facebook using my iPhone. I just wanted to tell them that I would be visiting the area and asked for some convenient dates. Obviously, Steve ignored the obvious typo, and instead altered the one word that would entirely change the meaning of my message.

Look what Steve wants me to do to the Beautiful South:

If I was Jacqui Abbott, I'd running away about now. To Rotterdam. Or anywhere, really!

Anyone interested in the tea update? Im about to make my 31st cuppa of the year. Yeah, baby!

Snow. Again.

The weather was fine. Then I went for a poo and when I came out of the bathroom, it was snowing. Quite a lot. Sorry people, I think this snow may have come out of my bottom. Some sort of bum dandruff, probably.

I know you'll be wanting to know what the tea count is. 23. I'm anticipating raising it to 24 by bed time. It would be more, but I've pretty much run out of milk.

Back to work tomorrow. Bah.

Rochester vs Breakfast

Rochester has a lovely way of showing just how grateful he is for the delicious food that I serve him.

This morning he took one look at his tasty lamb flavoured breakfast and vomited on the floor next to it!

In other news, for anyone that's counting, I've now had 17 cups of tea in 2011. The last but one cup was a dodgy South African brand recommended by my Zimbabwean bathroom fitter. It was not very nice.

Happy New Year

Well, it's 2011. Happy New Year.

Not much has happened yet. I've watched some TV, cooked a fry up for Dr K and me and drunk 4 cups of tea. For those that know me, that probably doesn't sound like much tea, but don't worry, it's only about 4pm at the moment. I have plenty of time to make up my tea deficit!

Update: it's just after 10pm now and I've had my last cuppa of the day. The total is 7, however it should be noted that the last 4 cups were served in a pint mug!