Keep On Lorrying

It occurred to me today that lorry drivers must ascribe some sort of hierarchy to the stuff that they transport.

For example, what could be more awesome than driving tank parts up the M5?

I imagine that beer is a very respectable thing to drive around.

Conversely, I can only assume that the drivers who deliver those 'feminine hygiene bins' to ladies toilets around the country are probably shunned by the other lorry drivers. While they normally let each other out on the motorway, normal lorry drivers probably maliciously cut the tampon bin lorries up!

In fact I suspect that tampon bin lorry drivers are barred from even eating at those dodgy layby lorry stops!

Blowing Off

Sorry, no. There are no guffs in this post.

Instead, I thought it'd share a short story about something that happened to me today.

When I ventured out to find some lunch today, it was very windy. And for the first time in my life, I felt my beard blowing about in the wind!

People keep telling me to cut it short or even off, but to be honest, it made me feel awesome!

So there.

Moving In...

Okay, first things first.m did you pull my finger last night or did you just stare at it wondering what the hell kind of rubbish blog post I was trying to palm off on you?

If you're in the latter group, perhaps you should revisit the post!

Now, back to business.

It would appear that several of my workmates enjoyed Friday's post which looked back fondly on my years in Bedminster. And now they're eager to read some thoughts on my first day in the new office.

Well. I arrived nice and early, in order to choose the best desk for myself. I chose the desk based primarily on it's proximity to a window. And it's lucky I chose the one I did, because as far as I can tell, it was the only desk that was wired up properly.

IT problems aside, there are a few issues that stand out to me:

Firstly, I couldn't find the toilets. I looked everywhere for them. There was a room that seemed to approximate toilets, but it didn't stink of piss and drains and there was no poo smeared around, so it couldn't possibly be the toilet. In the end I had to use one of the many potted plants dotted around the building. It already smelled of wee, so that's alright.

The windows were clean. I could see right through them. That can't be right. I'm used to th view of the arse end of a sepia car park. I say 'sepia' because it was viewed through a thick brown film of grime from 3 years without washing! I don't want any of this high definition full colour rubbish. I want the classic view!

I had been assured that being moved to the biggest office in town would mean that my canteen woes were at an end. Well it turns out that was a lie. Although the canteen is certainly bigger and has crumpets, but overall the food quality appears to be the same. And did I mention that lunchtime was like a riot at a jumble sale?

It was explained to me in some detail that in this new office we had to completely clear our desks in the evening. If there was even one thing, other than the monitor, keyboard and mouse on the desk, then it wouldn't be cleaned. Cleaned? I don't think my desk in Bedminster was ever cleaned in the five years I was there. I laugh in the face of clean desks! I revel in the lethal bacteria that might be living there waiting to kill me from the inside out!

I popped outside during the day. There were no drunks, toothless crones or chavs. Now I know I've moved up in the world!

Well, that's it. Can I get back to writing proper posts now? You know, ones with stupid pictures of me doing stupid things!

Pull My Finger

Daz Management

During all the chaos of our office move yesterday, I came across this memo which appears to have been circulated by senior management to everyone but me!

I wasn't able to get all of it, but I did manage to snap off a couple of pictures before anyone noticed.  You can click on them to make them bigger:

I have a feeling that it would go very badly for me if I let on that I have no idea what this 'Vegas' incident is.

Mum's the word!

Moving On...

I have worked in the same office for five years. Today, my team and I packed up our stuff, and, on Monday, will be unpacking in another, far more shiny and modern building across town. It's the end of an era.

Sure, there are things I'll miss, like the free parking and not having to share a half sized desk with anyone that happens to beat me into the office, but those were always incidental perks. Not really things that define the character of the place.

The things that I will, genuinely miss about this place are:

1. The windows
I have a window seat at the moment. There's a lot of history on these windows. Mostly because the cost cutting means that they haven't been washed for about three years. I've forgotten what my view was like. It's just a sort of uniform opaque brown.

2. The canteen
I have always enjoyed the cuisine in our staff canteen. The curries that are blander than bland. The exotic range of chinese pasta dishes. The tasteless chillies. Toasting my own bread. Playing the 'find the clean cutlery' or 'guess what's on the menu' games. The surliness off the staff. Did I say 'enjoyed'?

3. The toilets
Ahh... The toilets. They have inspired so many posts. Such classics as All New Levels Of Grimness, How To Use Your Toilet and Urinal and the classic How The Hell...

Apparently, they clean them in the new building. Where's the fun in that?

4. The bogey
I've never blogged about the bogey. Here it is:

To be honest, it's probably not a bogey. It could easily be some sort of scab. It lives at about head height on the wall, in the South stairwell and is about an inch long. It's been there as long as I've been working in this building. It's like an old friend. We considered scraping it off and taking it with us, but decided that it would be gross. Besides, one day, there will be a new generation of tenants in this building who will need a bogey friend.

5. The Environs
There's a good reason that we've changed the name of Bedminster to 'Bedminger' and refer to the local supermaket as the 'Hellmouth'. It's not because the place is a bit grubby and full of pound shops, pawn brokers, bargain booze establishments and betting shops. It's because most of the people you encounter in the street outside are mutants! Like Stig Of The Dump's Granddad, or the Bus Stop Incident. I remember posting about an old man who dropped trou and had a poo on the pavement right in front of me, but for the life of me, I can't find it!

So there you are.

I complained bitterly when I found out that I was being moved to this building, but on balance, I quite like it here, despite the things above.

A Brief Guide To Romancing The Womenfolk

The womenfolk are actually quite lovely, and if you play your cards right, yours might let you play with her jubblies for a little bit at bedtime. Here are a few tips to help make this happen.

1. Stare meaningfully at her jubblies. All ladies like to feel special, and putting some effort into looking at her jubblies while she's droning on about her day will send her the clear message that you think she's beautiful and had a lovely figure.

2. Leave her to do all of the housework.. By nature, the ladies like to nest and by letting them do this without interfering, you communicate that you respect her right to have the house just how she likes it. She'll be grateful!

3. Cut her food up for her.. Ladies are physically weak, but very prideful. By cutting up her food for her, you're letting her know that you care about her without forcing her to ask for your help.

4. Don't give her the remote. When ladies have the remote control, they're forced to think about what they want to watch. This won't do. They need to concentrate all of their lovely brainpower into looking delightful for you, so do her a favour and relieve her of the burden of responsibility. Your programmes are better than hers anyway.

5. Fiddle with your crotch while you talk to her. This will send her subconcious the message that she's sexy and that you would totally do her.

6. Buy her a whole bunch of shiny tat. Ladies brains are very similar to those of magpies, in that they love to hoard shiny things. Anyone that adds to their collection of shiny things is in with a chance! Foil milk bottle tops are particularly effective.

7. Make her a hot water bottle. Cold feet are a terrible problem for ladies as they are often too busy thinking about unicorns and handbags to worry about less important things like circulation. The hot water bottle will improve the circulation, diverting the blood from the brain area and allowing more to go to the lady parts.

8. Let her pay for dinner. It's empowering, and empowerment makes the ladies way horny. Yeah.

9. Pet Names. It's important to have a pet name for your lady that really shows how you feel about her and clearly defines the relationship. 'Honeybunch', 'Sweet' or 'Buttercup' are too sickly and might make her vomit. Conversely, while 'Bitch' or 'Whore' may be accurate for some relationships, they are probably a bit too explicit. What you need is some sort of happy medium. Like 'Honey-slag' or 'Butterho'.

If you've followed all of these suggestions, then you just got laid! High Five!

Baby On Board

I'm trying to figure why there are so many cars around with signs like this in the back of them.

I'm told that parents are encouraged to put them up because they make other drivers more considerate. Because they have a baby on board, see.

But that's bollocks, surely. The sort of people who might be more considerate when they see that notice are going to be pretty considerate anyway.

And the type of people who drive up your arse all the time, and brake way too late and are generally dickish about driving aren't about to change their ways just because there's a little yellow sign in your car. They probably can't read anyway.

So only one logical conclusion comes to mind. The parents who display these signs are basically advertising their children to a very select clientele...

It seems irresponsible to me...

Dazza's Tier of TV Terribleness

Because I'm a man of taste, people often ask me whether a programme is worth watching. Quite often, the answer is no, because what they're watching is rubbish.

I thought I'd take the opportunity to clear up a few things. Take a look at this chart:

As you can see, I've clearly ranked a bunch of programmes, showing the relative crapness or awesomeness of them.

Now, the programmes on this chart should be seen as representative of a type of show.

You'll see that right at the bottom is cheap, mass produced reality bollocks that's knocked together by idiots for idiots or to fill a gap in the daytime tv schedule. Big Brother, X Factor, endless programmes about buying shit houses or selling junk and so on. This sort of TV is shit and if you watch it, you'll start shedding IQ points until you're so dumb, you'll want to appear in one of them.

Then there's the soaps. They're shit too. The difference is that there has at least been an attempt at creativity, even if it failed horribly. In the main part, these demonstrate terrible, lazy writing, inconsistent characterisation and terrible acting. They, at least, provide a few jobbing actors and TV crews employment, but in the main part, will also rot your brain.

Right on the cusp of acceptability are shows like Masterchef, The Apprentice and Grand Designs, not to mention endless cookery shows. These are still reality TV. Even though they've had bit more money spent on them, they're still utterly shit, but they make aspiring middle class snobs feel better and that means they're doing something other than reading the Daily Mail.

Next there's all those identikit cop/mystery shows. CSI, The Mentalist, Law & Order, House and the like. Yeah, I know House isn't a cop, but his show follows all of the same tropes, just sticks 'em in a hospital. It's okay. It is is perfectly watchable TV. I'm okay with you watching this stuff.

And then there's the really good stuff. The stuff that's really well written, shows strong character and story progression and is just generally awesome. As well as the ones shown in the chart, you can include Mad Men, Sons Of Anarchy, Battlestar Galactica, Breaking Bad and all that excellent stuff.

Scattered amongst all of these are the sit-coms. But as a genre, they're such a mixed bunch, I couldn't really show them properly. There's genuinely funny clever stuff like The Big Bang Theory and How I met Your Mother. There's also awful stuff like Two and a Half Men, which just makes my face hurt when I watch it.

So there you go. My take on TV. If you disagree, you've been watching the wrong sort of TV and your brain has melted. Your opinion can't be trusted. Go away.

The Pissy Chart

A Weighty Post

Girls are rubbish at carrying stuff.

For example, when we went food shopping yesterday, Dr K handed me a bag of shopping and said 'Can you carry that one to the car, it's really heavy.'

I took it from her, expecting it to be a little challenging, but as it turned out, it was a bag of feathers and helium. By which I mean that it was grocery shaping. But really, really light grocery shopping.

After a brief discussion about the nature of heaviness, we decided that a small experiment was in order.

Basically, we took a shopping bag and filled it with weights until Dr K declared it too heavy.

(The criteria of 'too heavy' was not that it was too heavy for her to lift, but specifically that it was too heavy to convey home from the village shop if there was a man accompanying her.)

We used a bag that weighed 40g and several 1.25kg dumbbell weights. For the purposes of his experiment, we will use the term 'passover event' to describe the moment that the weight becomes intolerable and is passed over to the big, strong man. This is mainly to make it all sound more scientific and plausible.

Well, I say 'several', but Dr K declared that the bag was too heavy after 3* of them, so perhaps a 'few' would be a better description.

The combined weight, including the bag at which the passover event occurred was 3790 grams.

To put that into context, a full pint bottle of milk (the glass kind) weighs 816g. So the passover weight equates to around four and a half pints of milk.

I, on the other hand, can carry at least 5 pints of milk without complaint.

This conclusively proves that girls are rubbish wimps.

What's that? It wasn't a very scientific experiment?

Well, I suppose we could have formalised it by wearing white lab coats and having some glowing liquids around in test tubes, but I like to think of myself as something of a maverick. I live on the cutting edge of science and if you can't handle it then maybe you should go back to your slower than light neutrinos and stop bothering me!



( * Should I mention that she actually started complaining after the second weight was added? No, I think not. She might hit me and. Don't really want people thinking of my blog as condoning domestic abuse! )

Auntie Dazza Part Two

Since my Agony Aunt style post yesterday, the e-mails have been pouring in.  What can I say?  When I give advice, it's awesome.  So I thought I'd do it again.  And this time, I thought I'd dress the part:

So, here we go...

Dear Dazza Moo, 

Our neutrinos have been playing up.  Please can you tell them to behave.

Brian C, CERN.

Blimey, you scientists  don't know anything, do you?  

Luckily, I'm here to lend a hand.  If your neutrinos won't behave then a firm smack on their behind should do the job.  Failing that, send them to bed without any pudding.  That should give them pause for thought. 

You really need to nip this behavior in the bud at an early stage, because if you don't, your neutrinos will only get worse. I would also keep an eye on all of your other subatomic particles, just in case.  If you're not careful, your muons might develop a negative attitude or your electron may end up charged with a felony.

By the way, have you checked under the sofa cushion for that Higgs Boson particle?  Often when I can't find things, they're under the sofa cushion.

Dear Dazza,

I am your biggest fan. My cat keeps sleeping on my pillow.  I often wake up in the middle of the night to find my face full of cat anus, which I really don't like.  What should I do? 

Karen V, Gloucestershire

Have you considered the fact that you might be sleeping on his pillow, Karen?  From the sounds of it, you are a very inconsiderate young lady and should think seriously about going to sleep on the rug in the spare room instead of taking up valuable bedroom real-estate.

Dear Dazza, 

I knew you'd say that. You're an idiot. 

Karen V, Gloucestershire.

That's a fair point, Karen. A fair point!

Auntie Dazza Part One

My status as the world's premier internet celebrity means that I often receive emails and letters from people asking my advice on many things.  Normally, I'm inclined to ignore them, but for the purposes of this evening's post, I have decided to address a few of them.

Dear Dazza,

I'm a huge fan of your work, but I'm suffering from terrible gastric wind and wondered if you had any suggestions on how to deal with it. 

Brian S, Windermere.

Thanks for writing to me, Brian.  I actually have extensive experience with this particular problem and am uniquely qualified to advise you.  All you need to do is burp and fart.  You will find that this relieves all of your symptoms.  If the problem re-occurs, simply burp or fart again.  Problem solved.

Dear Mr Moo.

I am a long-time reader of your amazing blog, but this is the first time I have written to you. I am seeking your advice on how to deal with my wife, who keeps making me watch Eastenders and Sex in the City.  She is also threatening me with The Sound Of Music at Christmas.  What should I do?

James T, Kirkcaldy.

That is a serious problem and no mistake.  The way I see it, you have two options:  


The first is to simply refuse to watch the offending programmes.  This can be done in any number of ways, from hiding in the garage and looking at porn on your laptop, while the programmes are on, changing the channel and swallowing the remote or, slightly more reasonably, go and have a bath.


The alternative is to simply suck it up, grow a vagina and watch the hell out of that shit!

Dear Daz,

You seem to have your head screwed on. We seem to have fucked up the economy. Can you tell me how to fix it?

Dave C, London.

Yeah, sure. Best thing you can do is keep your hands to yourself, Dave. On second thoughts, that might make you go blind...

Dear Dazza,

My friend keeps putting the milk in first. 

Peter G, Tipslade.

He is not your friend.

Well, there you go, everyone. Take what you will from my advice. You know I'm right, though.

A New Vet

We recently took the cats to see a new vet. Not for anything serious, just to get their annual jabs.

It was all very run of the mill until we realised something awesome. The new vet's surname is Robotham.

What? You don't see it?

Robot Ham...

It all makes sense.

It would have to be robot ham because if it was real ham, all the animals would try to eat it.

Swearing

Swearing is not big and it is not clever. It doesn't make you sound tough or cool.

It is however, often funny and frequently satisfying.

I swear quite a lot. With this in mind, I have prepared the chart below which plots the words I favour against the frequency with which I use them.

Nine Things That Are Brilliant About Being Me

The Fish Lady and I had a very nice conversation this evening in which I was very witty and interesting. One of the things that came up, quite naturally, was how awesome I am. We then agreed that I should write a post about how brilliant it is to be me. Just so that there was no confusion.

So here, for your elucidation are nine things that are brilliant about being me:

1. I'm very handsome. I mean, that goes without saying, really. I'm gorgeous and manly. Luckily, I'm very modest, too.

2. I never get bored. Not when I'm left to my own devices, anyway. I always find brilliant stuff to amuse myself with.

3. I have the best cat on the planet. Rochester is brilliant, despite the smell and the wee. And he looks a bit like Batman. You wish your cat was as brilliant as Rochester, but he's not!

4. I'm multi talented. that's right. I have at least two. No, wait. I mean hands...

5. My wonderful singing voice. Not only do I have the voice of an angel, but I'm very good at making up really quite brilliant songs. Mostly about Dr K's jubblies.

6. Everything you say is funny. At least I think so, because my brain has a very special talent for turning everything you say into a euphemism for poo or sex. Heh... Talent!

7. My job. It seems that not many people really like their job. I'm one of those that do. It's brilliant!

8. My friends. I'm pretty sure that I have the best friends in the world. They're way better than your friends.

9. Dr K. Probably the single most brilliant thing about being me is Dr K. She is clever and lovely and pretty and very good at the Eddie Stobart game.

A Chronological Conjecture

Today, it amuses me to show you a picture of a clock:

You will notice that there are no numbers on the clock. This is because I have cleverly replaced them with things that I like to happen at any given time.

(As it's only a twelve hour clock, it only shows the main part of my average working day.)

For example, you can see that at ten o'clock I quite like to be given a cup of tea and a cake. Preferably a cake with a cherry on top. It doesn't always happen but, you know, it's something I like to happen.

Needless to say, the 'two' in 'two o'clock can be replaced with... well. Something that rhymes with 'two'.

So there you go. Today's post. A ridiculous clock.

The Relative Horribleness Of Foreign Sweets #22: South Korea

Just a quickie today as I'm off to London in a bit.

One of Dr K's workmates went to South Korea. Obviously I scrounged some sweets.

These little delicacies are orange chocolate, apparently.  The packaging is not the most impressive in the world and puts me in mind of those free choccies you get in restaurants when they give you the bill.

Inside was one pleasantly surprising chef and one boring square chocolate.  They both tasted of the same vaguely orangey chocolate and, because they'd been in the fridge were as hard as rock.

A little disappointing, I'm afraid, South Korea.  You only get a 3 and an amber.

The Phraseology Postulation

Here are some phrases that I hear regularly that irk me. Not because they're just a bit different to the way I choose to talk, but because they're stupid:

'Oftentimes'
An Americanism that turns up on my telly all the time. What's the second half of that word for? What does it add to my understanding of your sentence? Oh, that's right - it helps me understand that you're shit at talking!

'Myself'
Commonly used in a sentence to mean 'me', as in 'Please could you show myself that memo'. Also as in 'No, I couldn't, because you're a dick'.

'Yourself'
Similarly, 'I'll send this memo to yourself' is unacceptable.

'I could care less'
Americans use this on TV when they mean 'I couldn't care less'. I think it's because Americans on TV are a bit stupid, as it means exactly the opposite.

'Imma'
As in: 'Imma kick ur ass' or 'Imma do my chores'. It seems to be used to replace the phrase 'I am going to' or 'I will', with a collection of letters that basically 'I am a retard'.

'At this moment in time'
Now. For god's sake... NOW!

'Regular'
As far as I'm concerned, regularity is a measure of frequency, not size. If you offer me a 'regular' coffee, I'm going to assume that you're entering into an agreement to supply another one in an hour. And another one an hour after that and so-on.

'Off of'
See 'Oftentimes'. Then get off my blog.

'Do do'
As in 'We do do that'. There may be an obscure instance when the English language requires you to say the word 'do' twice in a row, but I really can't think of one. There's 'doo doo' though. And if you say 'do do', I'll probably just assume that you meant 'doo doo*'.

*which means 'poo'. Obviously.

The Poofish Conundrum

I think we need some clarification on a matter of etiquette.

You see, sometimes when I mention poo in mixed company, whether that be in the office, in a restaurant or just driving in my car, certain people have quite an extreme reaction.

See?

I don't really get it. I mean pooing is something that we all do. Okay, it's a bit smelly and bit gross, but not so much so that the mere mention of it should provoke this sort of reaction. Perhaps a simple 'Yuck' would be more appropriate.

As far as I can tell, the reaction is because these people don't like poo.

And if it's appropriate etiquette to go off the deep end when someone mentions something that you dislike, then I reserve the right to have a similarly over the top reaction if someone mentions fish or cauliflower!

How dare you!

The Doughnut Of Time

Do you like my doughnut? Pretty sweet, isn't it? Look at it's pretty colours and it's exciting layers.

I had always written off doughnut charts as a substandard variation of a pie chart. I mean it works just like a pie chart, but with a great big hole in the middle. Big deal.

But then I discovered that you could layer them and show different sets of data on each ring.  And that was when they became awesome.

So, back in September I kept a record of how long I spent doing stuff.  At a fairly high level, obviously.  And then I worked out a RAG status to show how much, on the whole I enjoyed those activities.

INNER RING (High Level Activity)	Time Taken	MIDDLE RING (Low Level Activity)	Time Taken	OUTER RING RAG
OFFICE	58.5 hrs	Work	47.5 hrs	GREEN
		Travel	9.5 hrs	AMBER
		Lunch	1.5 hrs	GREEN
SLEEP	49 hrs	Sleep	49 hrs	AMBER
HOME	60.5 hrs	Leisure	37.5 hrs	GREEN
		Blog	9 hrs	GREEN
		Kitchen	8 hrs	RED
		Bathroom	6 hrs	AMBER

A couple of clarifications:

1. I mostly enjoy my job, although there are bits I detest. But my workmates are awesome and I get a whole ton of job satisfaction, so I gave it all green.
   
2. Sleep. Meh. It's wasted time as far as I'm concerned. But I need it, so I do it. Grudgingly, though.
   
3. I only have one chore at home: feeding Dr K  And I don't like it.  But it's the only one she gives me, because she hates cooking more than I do.  She does pretty much everything else. So I can't really complain.
   
4. That time in the bathroom isn't just pooing. There's some washing and stuff in there too. Honest.
   
5. All that leisure time is divided between watching TV, playing video games, doing for walks, shopping, reading and a whole bunch of other stuff.

So, all in, I reckon I have a pretty healthy balance of work and leisure and sleep.  Apart from this, there is no particular insight into my life to be gained, apart from the fact that I quite like it, I'm pretty good at it and I also like Doughnut Charts!

Miniature Mechanics

I think there must be some sort of rule that requires car mechanics to be tiny.

Every single time I've ever taken my car into the garage, it has always been returned to me with the driver's seat pulled right forward as if whoever's been working on it is a midget.

Maybe it's a union thing. Maybe they only allow really short people to get jobs in garages.

Perhaps garages are full of little people who are small enough to climb around inside my car and fix things with their tiny, tiny hands!

I'm not complaining, anyway. I took my car in today expecting to fork out a couple of hundred quid for a new alternator but ended up paying thirty quid to replace a frayed wire!

Awesome-Boy!

If I say that I'm sick, someone announces that they're sicker. For example, regular readers will now that I've just got over a very heavy cold. When I mentioned it to my mother, she immediately told me about the 4 week cold that she just suffered. A friend also jumped in to let me know that he was so sick with his cold that he had to take a week off work!

If I should note that I'm finding a particular job quite tricky, someone will invariably pipe up and tell me that they're finding their job much, much harder.

If I should dare to mention how busy I am, someone else is always busier.

If I comment on how hot I am in the office, there's always someone ready to interject with an update on just how much hotter they are.

In fact whatever I bring up, someone has always had it harder, worse, more painfully, smellier, longer, busier, more tiresome, flatter, fatter, crustier or hairier

I've had a think about this and I have come to the only reasonable conclusion. If I find everything easier than everyone else, and don't get as sick as everyone else and so-on, it's reasonable to assume that I'm more awesome than everyone else.

In fact, I'm probably some sort of super hero!

Look at my abs. Yeah!

Snotwatch (20)

Damn that sniffle. It's the only thing left.

I'm gonna declare a green, anyway!

Snotwatch Threat Level: GREEN

Birdstrike!

Just a short post today. A little anecdote, if you will indulge me.

I was lounging on the sofa this morning, enjoying an episode of Thundercats and a hot cup of tea, when I heard an almighty thud from the kitchen.

It sounded very much as if one of the cats had run full tilt into the patio door. They're both stupid enough to do that sort of thing.

So I went into the kitchen to investigate, only to be confronted with the sight of a stunned kestrel stinging just outside the door, clutching it's breakfast.

It was stunned enough to sit there while I went to find a camera. See:

It recovered quickly enough, though and flew off a few minutes later.

And that is my bird related anecdote for the day. It's not quite as impressive an anecdote as the morning I found a peacock in my back garden, but amusing, nonetheless.

Snotwatch (19)

I think we're almost done. My blocked nose has reduced to the status of sniffle. My sore throat is pretty much recovered. I only have to shake this mild headache (which may be TV related, rather than a cold symptom) and I can sign off on a GREEN status and put all of this snotwatch malarkey behind us.

In the meantime though:

Snotwatch Threat Level: AMBER

A Less Than Epic Quest

So, yesterday, Dr K and I were expecting a visit from my parents for dinner when we realised that we had nothing in to make the cottage pie that I had promised them.

So we had to pop to the supermaket and, in our infinite wisdom, decided to visit the enormous new Tesco in Yate.

Big mistake.

As soon as we entered the outskirts of Yate, we were confronted by idiot drivers who seemed to want nothing more than  to delay our arrival, or even bar it completely.  And the closer we got to the supermarket car-park, which is huge and underground, the slower and more obstructive they became.

Once parked, we had to join the thronged mass of chavs riding the conveyor belt up to the entrance.  Honestly, it was just like queuing to get into the supermarket.

And then we had to fight our way round the supermarket for the armful of groceries we needed, before being confronted by an idiot cashier who barely knew his arse from his elbow.

Eventually, we managed to pay and leave, which got us home just in time to cook dinner before the parents arrived.

Woohoo.

Snotwatch (18)

I thought I was doing much better yesterday, but when I woke up this morning my nose was completely stuffed up. All I could smell was snot, which smells a bit like musty carpets.

Fortunately I was able to alleviate this particular symptom with chemicals, which only left the fatigue, which I treated with a strong dose of sofa.

I think I'm on the mend.

Snotwatch Threat Level: AMBER

An Epic Quest

Once upon a time, a beautiful Princess and her brave, handsome Prince were expecting a visit from the King and Queen.  They had a problem, though.  And the problem was this: they had no gifts with which to welcome their royal visitors.

And so it came to pass that the brave Prince and the beautiful Princess set out to seek their fortunes (and get home in time for tea).


They had travelled far across the bleak countryside when they met a mysterious stranger, two whom they explained their problem.

"There is a legend," said the mysterious stranger, "that in the distant land of Yar-Tay, there is a mighty temple hewn from the mountain.  A temple populated by twisted, hideous creatures, but, so the legend goes, full to it's mighty towers with all the treasure that an adventurer could carry."

"With this treasure," said the Princess, "we would be have all the gifts we need to satisfy the King and Queen!"


"Aye," agreed the mysterious stranger, "but you must beware.  The lands around the temple are full of mighty, yet stupid beasts who would bar your passage. And the temple itself is filled with the most twisted, hideous creatures you could ever imagine!"


The princess, who had met her Prince's brothers, thought about it for a moment and then declared, "We will go forth to this temple and bring back the treasure we need, for there is no other way."

"If that is your destiny," said the mysterious stranger, "then you will need this talisman."

He handed them a leather pouch, inside which was a talisman.  Upon the talisman were sixteen silver symbols. 

"You will know how to use it," the old man told them, "when the time is right!"  And with that he vanished.

And so they traveled deep into the mysterious land of Yar-Tay.  After a long march, they eventually spied the mighty fortress in the distance.

As the mysterious stranger had foretold, the land between them and the temple was populated by mighty, shiny beasts, some of which had enormous fins and skirts of indeterminate purpose.


As predicted, these beasts did all they could to block their way, but the Prince and Princess used their wily skills to dodge past them and then entered the dark, dank cavern beneath the temple!


In this cavern ware all manner of twisted, hideous creatures that may once have been people.  But any man that spends a lifetime in the shadow of the evil that rules the mysterious land of Yar-Tay is twisted by that evil into a hideous reflection of himself, a form that is less a man than an animal.


Drawing their cloaks close around them to hide their courage and beauty from the creatures around them, the Prince and Princess joined the thronging masses seeking a way into the temple itself.

Eventually, a way presented itself.  A magical moving pathway whisked the Prince and Princess and their hideous, twisted hosts up and out of the dark, dank cavern and into the mighty temple!


It was just as the prophecy had foretold!  The temple was huge, with a ceiling that was higher than the eye could see and treasure stacked to the height of three men!


But taking the treasure was not going to be simple, for it seemed that the hideous twisted creatures from the dark, dank cavern below the temple had the very same scheme.  Each and every creature was ransacking the temple and taking every last piece of treasure!


"We will have to fight them," declared the brave Prince.


"Indeed we will," agreed the beautiful Princess.


And so, they both drew their swords and fought off the throngs of hideous, twisted creatures until none were left standing!

When they stood alone in the cavernous teple, they looked about them at the treasure, stacked high.


"We could have it all," said the Princess.  "But we must not.  For it is the love of this treasure that twisted these hideous creatures so.  We must take only what we need and never return"


And so they each took an armful of treasure and made their way back to the magical pathway that lead down to the dark, dank cave and away to safety.


But at the gateway they were confronted by a creature even more twisted and even more hideous than they had yet encountered.

"Where is it going with my preciouses?" the creature hissed!


"We have taken only what we need," said the brave Prince. "The rest is yours to keep."


"It takes my preciouses," cried the creature, "and it must pay, yes!"


"We have nothing to trade," said the Prince.


"Then it pays with it's lives," the creature growled, and bared it's teeth.


"We have nothing to trade," said the beautiful Princess, "but this magical talisman."


From her knapsack, she produced the leather pouch and, from the leather pouch she produced the talisman which had been given to her by the mysterious stranger.


"It's pretty, pretty," moaned the creature. "Is it my precious, now?"


"It is," assented the Princess, and handed the talisman to the creature.


With the creature distracted, the brave Prince and beautiful princess were able to slip past and away to freedom!


After a long and arduous march they arrived home just in time to welcome their Royal guests into their castle. The King and Queen were greatly pleased by the gifts that they had been given and bestowed their Roayl blessings upon the household.

And after that, they feasted.  And after that, they all lived happily ever after!

Snotwatch (17)

It's funny how much you take breathing through your nose for granted. It's only when you can't, that you miss it.

The biggest problem with breathing through your mouth all night is the ncredibly sore throat you have the following morning. Gah.

Snotwatch Threat Level: RED

Fascination

My aunt sent me a video about moustaches today because I have a 'fascination with facial hair'. I have facial hair. I'm not sure this necessarily translates to a 'fascination' with it.

Ever since Dr K got herself a cat, about half of her birthday and Christmas cards have featured cats. Also she now owns a lovely selection of cat themed tea towels and nick-nacks because now she has a cat, she is apparently obsessed with them. Same thing happened to me when I first got Rochester and Elliot 16 yeas ago!

It seems that because you have a thing, you must also have an obsession or fascination with it.

To be on the safe side, I will therefore be assuming that anyone in possession of underpants is obsessed with them. And because anyone who has recently had a haircut must be fascinated by the barber trade, I will be sure to point out relevant employment opportunities to them.

And anyone who indulges in the occasional poo, will almost certainly enjoy contributions to the collection that they're obviously building!

Snotwatch (16)

Ran out of pills. Had to go out to get more. That wasn't fun. I did find some Olbas oil at in an ice cream tub on top of the fridge this afternoon, though. Sweet.

I fell asleep on the sofa for about three hours this afternoon. That was pretty sweet, too!

Snotwatch Threat Level: RED

Snotwatch (15)

I don't think the drugs are working any more.  Also, it seems that one of the less well publicised symptoms of a heavy cold is an utter lack of tea from your girlfriend.

Snotwatch Threat Level: RED RED RED

The Relative Horribleness Of Foreign Sweets #21: United Arab Emirates

So my brother's girlfriend popped over to Abu Dhabi to see a relative and came back with some genuine Arab sweets.

Apparently it was quite hard to locate genuine local sweets over there as the supermarkets are full of the ubiquitous Haribo and Dairy Milk. But they persevered and here's what they came up with:

These are basically squished up dates, rolled around in various toppings.

While they look quite pretty in the box, I'm gonna be honest and say that in close up, some of those 'toppings' look suspiciously like they may have been floor sweepings at some point.

Not only do these look like massively compressed dates, they taste like it too. You won't be wanting more than one or two of these at a time. Not unless the toilet is one of your favourite places.

I don't mind dates, but I think they're pretty boring - the toppings on these don't add much to the whole dating experience. I get the impression that the natives of Dubai don't have quite as sweet a tooth as me.

So, the UAE only scores a 3. If I was them, I would be happy enough with that. At least they're not Sweden!

Snotwatch (14)

I've created so much mucus today that every time I blow my nose, the tissue basically liquefies.
I've done this to about 15 tissues so far today.

Snotwatch Threat Level: RED

Vicks Parfum

Snotwatch (13)

Got home feeling awful. Had some hot ribena and some drugs and am now ready to go out and pick up a blisteringly hot curry. Those tubes will be cleared, dammit!

Snotwatch Threat Level: RED.

Snotwatch (12)

I'm standing on a station platform on a chilly November morning. I know it's chilly cos I can see my breath. So why am I hot and sweaty?

Oh well, apart from that, the drugs are working fine, so I'll just pretend it's summer. Or maybe Africa.

Snotwatch Threat Level: AMBER.

Snotwatch (11)

Drugs wore off. Need more.

There is thick yellow mucus leaking from my nose.

Snotwatch Threat Level: RED.

What Are You Waiting For?

Are you ever in your car, sitting behind someone at a junction or a roundabout wondering why the hell they're not pulling out even though there's a space the size of the Titanic? And another one! And another one!

Or maybe you've been second in the queue at the post office and the dozy bint in front of you is staring vacantly into space while the free cashier is desperately trying to get her attention.

Maybe you've found yourself holding the door for someone who dawdles down the corridor without a care in the world, while you waste precious seconds of your life.

Whatever it is that someone's failing to get the fuck on with in front of you, perhaps they're waiting for an actual written invitation.

Like this one:

Feel free to print this out and keep it on your person to hand to the next idiot to hold you up!

Snotwatch (10)

Drugs are brilliant.

Snotwatch Threat Level: AMBER.