Hot Tubs Are For Sex

Hot tubs are a bit weird.

I know a couple of people who have hot tubs and in the past, I've been invited to go and sit in hot tubs. I've always declined.

Do you know why?

Because as far as I'm concerned, hot tubs are basically foreplay. Frothy, wet, gushy, back-garden foreplay. The sort you have right before frothy, wet, gushy, back-garden fornication.

If you ask me to get in your hot tub with you, I'm going to go right ahead and assume that you're inviting me to to get down to a bit of frothy, wet, gushy back-garden how's your father. Be warned.

 I'll be honest - I've never been asked to sit in a hot tub by anyone that I want to fornicate frothily, wetly, gushily, or indeed in the back-garden with.

If Dr K asked me to sit in a hot tub with her, I'd be there straight away, because she's awesome and has the best kind of jubblies*. Oh yeah, and she's my girlfriend.

 But some people are convinced that hot tubs are a normal social thing that you can invite your mates into and have a jolly good laugh, probably whilst drinking babycham.

I'm sorry. They're wrong. Completely wrong.

Big tubs of hot water are for only two things: for having frothy, wet, gushy, back-garden sex in, or for having a bath in. And you don't really wanna mix the two, do you...

( * the kind I'm allowed to play with. )

Some Observations (Or Lack Thereof)

Okay, first things first:  I got my new car on Friday:

Look at the dashboard.  It's like a spaceship.  Or Knight Rider!  I have yet to figure out what all those buttons do.

Yesterday Dr K and I were visited by a friend for whom I do not have a ridiculous nickname.  It was my responsibility to organise an entertaining day out in Bristol for her!

It didn't start well, when we turned up at the Clifton Observatory to have a go on the Camera Obscura.  It was closed.  So we did not observe anything.  I have therefore officially re-dubbed the Clifton Observatory as the Clifton...

We did have a quick look at the Giant's Cavern, beneath the Observatory. It was not Giant. In fact it was pretty cramped, so I have decided tho re-dub it the ... Cavern.

After that, we went down in Bristol proper, where we visited the M-Shed. The M-Shed is a museum down by the waterfront in Bristol with a bunch of cool stuff in it.  For example, there was a vintage, and unattended, cash register in there.  So obviously I had to pop on an apron and sell some wares.

There was also a metal portaloo. The sign next to it suggested it was the top portion some sort of fire tower that was designed to sit on top of buildings during the Second World War.  Clearly, I know better.  Iron Portaloo.

Later that day, there was steak and cake, which rhyme quite nicely.

We eventually ended up at the Wildlife Photographer of the Year competition gallery in the museum at the top of Park Street.  For some reason, I didn't win it this year, even though I clearly took the best picture:

I mean, look at the composition of this work of art.  The colours.  The play of light.  The juxtaposition of nature and technology which evokes something really quite profound along the lines of  'Get the hell out of the way of the telly, you mangy little twat!'

I should totally have won.

Well, have a lovely week.  I will be back in seven days, with more nonsense!

London, Baby!

This weekend, I took Dr K on a little trip to London.  It's a little treat to take her mind off all the hard work she does sharing a house with me.

While we were there, we covered an awful lot of ground and did an awful lot of walking.

Here's an impressively detailed, highly accurate map of the places we went and the routes we took:

Who needs Google Maps, eh?  We walked pretty much all of it except the sticky out bit on the far left, which we did on the train because our poor little legs were a bit tiredy-wiredy.

So... on Friday we caught the train to London and met an excellent friend near Barbican for lunch.  Then we walked south past St Paul's and across the wibbly-wobbly bridge and round the back of the Tate Modern to our hotel in Southwark.

Then we walked...  yes, walked, all the way to Regent Street to look at the toys in Hamleys, most of which were shit apart, obviously from the Star Wars Lego.  They had a life size Lego Darth Vader, which was quite possibly the most amazing thing I've ever seen!

After that, we cut across Hyde Park to Harrods, which was full of really expensive shit!  There was a little bit of Star Wars Lego  in their toy department, but no Lego Darth Vader, which made it shitter than Hamleys. They had Buzz Lightyear instead. Pff.

And then it was time to walk back to the hotel in Southwark.  It was around this time that our little feet began to regret our decision to walk.





The next day was less strenuous on the feet, although were were given regular achey reminders of the hell that we'd put them through.

First up, we caught the train to Shepherd's Bush which, contrary to popular belief harbours no shepherds and very few bushes.  A brisk walk south took us to the Kensington Olympia where we went to the Doctor Who experience, which was AWESOME.

After the awesomeness, we had pizza and caught the train to Covent Garden where we climbed far too many steps and then had doughnuts and ice cream and nosed around the shops before holing up in a pub while we waited to be let into the Cambridge theatre to see Matilda.

Which was AWESOMELY AWESOME!

Oh, and then we walked back to the hotel because we didn't think we'd had enough of walking yet.  We were, of course, utterly wrong.




And then it was Sunday.  We just had time to have steak with some more excellent people before rushing off to catch a train.
And now I'm home.  Rochester was extremely pleased to see us and keeps following me round the house to make sure that I don't do any thing silly like bugger off and leave him entirely on his own for a weekend.
As if.

The Curry Police

We're a week into the New Year and I've only had one curry.

I was going to have one last night, but my curry date didn't show and I ended up having a drink with a strange man in the pub.  Then I had a sausage roll which, contrary to popular belief is not as good as having a curry.

This post, however is being written just a couple of hours before I'm due to go out and meet some of my excellent friends for  what should have been my third curry of the year.  I'm fairly sure this lot will show.

Now that first curry was a pretty disappointing affair.  While it was tasty enough, the meat-to-sauce ratio was unacceptably low. I have a handy little chart that you can cut out and keep in you pocket to show curry house owners, to clarify this issue:

As we returned home from the takeaway with that disappointing curry on Wednesday evening, we passed a car that had been pulled over by the police. Dr K made a passing comment that might just stick with me until the end of my days:

"Look," she said. "It's the Curry Police,"

It's a chilling concept, isn't it?

The Curry Police. Just typing it sends an unpleasant little shiver down my spine. I can just picture being pulled over...

The Blog Post I Didn't Have To Write

Hah. I don't have to write this post!

In fact I'm not putting any effort into it whatsoever! It's so nice not to have the pressure of you lot expecting an awesome blog post out of me!

So, I say again... Hah.

Oh, and Happy New Year!

Well, That Was 2011

Good, wasn't it?

Back at the end of 2010 I was challenged to write a blog post every day for a year.  Well...  actually, it was suggested in passing that I could write down a 'thought of the day'.  I bet the person who suggested it doesn't even remember the conversation.

Anyway, I took up the challenge.  And completed it with flying colours, I think.  No-one ever said that the blog had to be good...

I thought, for my final post of the year, I would have a little retrospective of my favourite posts from the last 12 months.

Remember back in May, when Dexter was caught on CCTV committing murder?  No?  Here it is:

He did a lot of murdering.  Sometimes he tried to leave evidence to suggest that the victims were responsible for their own deaths.

Evil little f*cker, isn't he? And mass murder not his only crime. In April, he was caught red handed drinking from the toilet.  No, wait...  he was caught BLUE handed!

Moving on, I've done a number of useful diagrams:

Remember when I had to make the difference between me and the womenfolk clear?

Or when I had to explain how to use a toilet?

And the Pissy Chart

And there was that incredible diagram that explained why fish curry shouldn't exist.

While we're on the subject of food, the Food Chart was extremely informative:

Remember Veguary?  I've been asked a number of time whether I'll be repeating it in 2012.  I'm undecided.  What do you think?  Science suggests that maybe I shouldn't, as illustrated in this graph:

Back in February I had an important insight into public transport etiquette, which led to the need for this poster:

Meanwhile, in the office there was a controversial debate over the use of the word 'bugger'.  As everyone should know by now, it's very very rude, because it means:

Science established in July that I was far more handsome than Brad, Tom and George.

It also illustrated another of the many differences between men and women:

Then there was the Evil Cabal Of Evil.  It all kicked off in April, when I stole a cheese sandwich from Steve Jobs.

And they started a recruitment drive:

But eventually they had to give up and concede defeat!

In June, there were protests about stuff.  Some of it was quite important!

I went to some lovely places during the year.  Leicester and it's environs.  Chester.  Alton Towers.  Queueland...

After a while, I realised that I should use the awesome power of my blog for good.  So I produced a series of  public information guides:

How to make the most of of staying in a hotel.

Or maybe a useful guide to romance.

And of course some useful tips on how to look after your cat!

And there was so much more, but I've got bore... er... run out of time.

Only one thing left to mention. At the time of writing, my tea count was 2083. Two thousand and eighty three cups of tea in 2011.

Well, it's done now. As of now, I don't have to write a blog post every day.

The good news is that you don't get rid of me that easily, though.  I plan to continue the blog, albeit at a slightly lower rate.  One post a week should do it, I think.

See you next year!

The 10 Things Toastie

It is with great, stomach churning and rather queasy pleasure that I bring you this penultimate post of the year.

First a little history lesson:

Way, way back in the mists of time (historians believe it was around the very late eighties or early nineties), Dr K and her learned friend, Annette embarked upon a mighty crusade to make a truly disgusting snack.  They came up with what they called 'The Ten Things Toastie'.

This abomination consisted of such things as cold gravy, lemon curd, tomato sauce, custard, toothpaste, marmite and cheese spread.  Disgusting, I think you'll agree.

Fast-forward a couple of decades, and Dr K has challenged me to repeat the experience.  Obviously, common sense stepped in the way, but I quickly brushed it aside in favour of a bolder, more idiotic course of action!

First up, we had to choose what was going in the toastie. This is what we came up with:

1. Sliced Jalapeno Peppers
2. Pickled Onions
3. Tomato Sauce
4. Chocolate Spread
5. Beetroot Pickle
6. Cheese
7. An Egg
8. Apple Chutney
9. Salt and Vinegar Chipsticks
10, A Banana

That's right.  For your entertainment, I made and ate a jalapeno, onion, tomato sauce, chocolate, beetroot, cheese, egg, apple chutney, chipstick and banana toastie.  Yum yum.

Or not as it turned out.

There were a couple of moments towards the end that I thought I wasn't going to finish.  In fact there was one moment when I thought I was going to see the toastie again.

I'm pleased to report that, although I did this about 5 hours ago, my stomach is still churning.  I don't think I'll be sleeping well tonight.

Here's a video of the whole sordid affair:

Sausage Is Not A Euphemism.

You lot have filthy minds.

Beware The Sausage Fiend

Separate Beds

I've got something to say. It's not going to be easy to read, but I just have to get it off my chest.

I think we should get separate beds.

It's not that I don't love you any more. I do love you. You're ace.

But I just find sharing a bed with you far more trouble than it's worth. You hog the duvet. You make weird noises. You keep kicking me in your sleep - sometimes in the chest! You encroach on my side of the bed and drool on my pillow. I keep inhaling your hair. And your breath... it smells like a badger died of dysentery in your mouth.

It wouldn't be a problem if I coud lie in, but I have to get up really early and so I need a good nights sleep.

So from now on, I'd be really grateful if you could just go and find somewhere else to spend the night, so I can get my beauty sleep.

Thanks, cats. I knew you'd understand.