Sighs and Blunders

Shows I would like to see

noreply@blogger.com (Ian H) — Sat, 28 Aug 2010 13:48:00 +0000

1) 'Celebrity piranha feeding frenzy'.

2) 'Celebrity high diving' into a damp tissue.

3) Simon Cowell in ' I'm a celebrity keep me in here. ' With all the profits from viewer's phone calls going to the charity 'Mind'.

4) 'The return of Gladiators', featuring senior bankers and real lions.

5) 'Airbrush Undone' - featuring high definition pictures of 'the beautiful people' currently on the front pages of glossy magazines, wearing Matalan clothes and un-airbrushed.

6) 'Throw compare' - featuring a large ballista and the annoying singing bloke from the "Go Compare" advert.

7) 'Man vs Spam@ - where the people responsible for sending you and I all that electronic junk mail are made to eat a slice of the famous "pork shoulder meat and ham", for every piece of junk mail they have sent out.

8) 'Press one for electrocution, two for branding.... ' Where the Chief Executive of every company that abuses one those horrible touch tone menu's on their help line, gets a suitable comeuppance when the appropriate key is pressed.

Any further suggestions.....?

Myway Code

noreply@blogger.com (Ian H) — Tue, 26 Jan 2010 21:02:00 +0000

That's it, I've had enough! The mindless driving I have experienced tonight has left me speechless with pent up fury. People driving the wrong way down a lane, others blindly setting off just as I go to pass them.

Then there was the person who abandoned their flippin' vehicle in the middle of the lane, while they have a chat to someone they knew who was going the other way. It's nearly driven me insane tonight, and that's not all. I narrowly avoided an accident with one woman driver who was nattering on her mobile whilst steering with one hand, while another (bloke this time) stopped for no reason I could see and held up the flow of traffic while he looked gormlessly about. There was one totaly loopy person that overtook me at speed with a small child standing up eating sweets - not even strapped in.

There should be rules for people to follow to stop this mayhem and madness, but somehow I can't see the supermarkets imposing them...so I'll have to continue to take my life into my hands and live by my wits all in the name of shopping!

The paradox of snow

noreply@blogger.com (Ian H) — Tue, 05 Jan 2010 19:26:00 +0000

Having slid, stumbled, slithered down our drive recently due to the copious volumes of snow that have fallen on it. I am familiar with the slippery nature of snow, by dint of first-hand experience. So when I found this photo of an individual snowflake recently I was reminded of a question that occurred to me when I was a child and first saw such photo's, - how come snow is slippery?

It's plainly full of points and spiky so surely it should be grippy, not slippy? After all surely all snow flakes don't fall to ground in the horizontal plane? So some should fall with the spiky bits up/down, or at angles at least? When my kids piled suck spiky objects into their toy boxes, eg stickle bricks they most certainly did no slip or slide around, they became tangled and resisted slipping - so what's the score with snow flakes and all this slipping?

Also how come snowflakes don't hurt when they hit you? Surely with such spiky extremities they should? (OK when some Gobbin makes up a hard packed ice-ball masquerading as a snow ball and whacks it between your eyes - that hurts, but that's not what I'm getting at.)
Where is the health warning telling people not to look up when it's snowing - one of those point could easily have someone's eye out?

(I'm sure some smarty pants knows all the answers to my questions, and can tell me that snow flakes are slippery due to some function of surface energy, coefficients of friction and the vagaries of quantum physics. If you do feel free to smile smugly and keep the info to yourself.)

PS Think you know your snow?...Then try this quiz

Resolved?

noreply@blogger.com (Ian H) — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 12:18:00 +0000

I wonder how many people are like me, you arrive at the end of a year and as you peer forward over the threshold of the new year and your mind turns to those new year's resolutions - but you only have the vaguest recollection of those you made this time last year? Sure there might be one that you have sort of stuck with, but by and large they have been eroded away as the events of the past year have taken place.

If you are one of those people who stuck with and saw through all your resolutions last year - WELL DONE! Now go and be smug whilst reading someone else's blog, this one is for mere mortals who make resolutions in good faith on January 1st, only find they have quietly sneaked out of the back door by January 14th. Do not despair - help is at hand, in the words of the great sage Baldrick I have a cunning plan!

This year let's resolve, not to make any resolutions, bar this one: to make no resolutions. Sweet isn't it? All that it requires is the barest modicum of discipline, so that when you feel tempted to make a resolution to; lose some weight; go to the gym regularly etc etc you dig in and say to yourself (and anyone else who might be listening) No! I have a resolution to keep. The beauty of this resolution lies in it's simplicity, it avoids all the guilt of you making a pact with yourself to run ten miles per week this year, only to find that come December 31st the only running you have done is the running up of a lengthy bill for gym subscriptions, and state of the art training shoes, neither of which have seen much action.

This elegant little resolution means that you can reach the end of the year, having kept your resolution, and you can feel good about the way that you have resisted the temptations to break your resolution, strong as those temptations my be. What is more should you fail, and fall into the wicked trap of making a resolution to lose some weight by eating only vegetables this year, then find that you have broken that wicked resolution and eaten a pie - you can assuage your guilt by the simple process of claiming that you had lapsed in the keeping of your initial resolution, and now felt it was only morally right to repent and stick with your resolution like a man, rather than wimping out and breaking your first avowed intent.

The permutations are endless - slipped up and resolved to give up drinking beer, repent return to your initial resolution and show your contrition by quaffing a pint of Speckled Hen - boobed by announcing that you will walk everywhere to offset your carbon footprint, repent and drive even the shortest of journeys. At last a new year's resolution I can live with - Happy 2010 folks!

14,000,000 chargers...just in case

noreply@blogger.com (Ian H) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 00:12:00 +0000

I read today that Nokia are recalling 14 million phone chargers, I think that's roughly 10 times the number we have in the back of cupboards and stuffed into the junk drawer in the office.

How did they all get there? Do they breed in there or what?
Why can I never find one to fit the current model when it's bleeping at me and using up the last of the charge in it's battery?

(How much longer would the charge last if it didn't keep on bleeping?)

Why do we keep these things? Is it just my family that keeps odd things - just in case? We've drawers full of leads to connect various electronic items together; speaker leads, chargers, five different types of USB cable, two coiled leads that I have no idea what they do. (Can you connect a Philishave to a printer? If yes - why?)

The tool drawer is worse, it's full of tools that look very interesting, but serve no purpose, things for removing spark-plugs from horses hooves. Allen keys for Ikea furniture that we keep just in case we don't get one with the next flat pack "snod" we buy. (Why does Ikea furniture all sound like it comes from the land of Bagpuss?)

My favourite - keep just in case - item is the stud removal tool I made at college. I never saw anyone use one when I was in engineering, I've never heard of anyone lamenting the lack of one whilst caught up in some DIY disaster - but we are keeping it in the tool drawer just in case...

Uninspired paradoxes

noreply@blogger.com (Ian H) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 17:58:00 +0000

I read somewhere that creativity is 99% perspiration and 1% inspiration, so feeling somewhat uninspired I decided to apply the logic. After forty minutes of hard exercise, whilst wearing two sweatshirts and with the central heating on full blast I am now soaked in sweat, and breathlessly hoping for that 1% of inspiration to miraculously appear.

So far my wait is in vain.

I press on, determined to write a piece for this flippin' blog, having decided that maybe the 1% will show up when I'm least expecting it. It's principle that I am well used to working with trains and buses - they never turn up when expected, and then just when you have given up hoping...they arrive.

Plainly somewhere deep inside I must be expecting inspiration to show up, as so far it has not. Don't you just hate it when a paradox lets you down?

At last! Inspiration has arrived!! Alas too late...... as it's now time for me to go!

Internet Explorer Tips

noreply@blogger.com (Ian H) — Tue, 23 Dec 2008 20:02:00 +0000

Don't use IE!
If you must use IE only do so when your PC is turned off
If you must use IE whilst your PC is on, don't.**

**You can ignore this advice if you are running an advanced operating system like
Linux-Tiger-Vista stable final Beta, Alpha 2.00000446.

(If you believe you are using the aforementioned OS then running IE is the least of your problems.)

'Twas the eve before the eve before Christmas eve

noreply@blogger.com (Ian H) — Mon, 22 Dec 2008 18:38:00 +0000

Families warned of dangers of exploding gravy - what a great headline! Which started me thinking what public service, health and safety guidance could I contribute to the Christmas festivities? The more I think about it the more I realise that the Yuletide season is fraught with all manner of physical and social dangers:

Christmas stockings - if not washed before use bring the danger of athletes foot and veruca's.
PTSD - Present (Tie\Sock) Disappointment - you wanted an iPhone but got an eyesore in the shape of a lurid tie and sock set!
Envelope licker's tongue, which can be linked with the ever painful paper cut lip
Christmas card writers block
Gift wrappers cramp\Bow tie'rs bunion
Nut crackers thumb OR if attempted after excessive Christmas tipple nutcrackers nipple!
Flambé pudding eyebrow singe
The hidden danger of an allergic reaction to nuts thoughtlessly concealed in a bag of nuts!
Mistletoe lurkers neck
Sale shoppers remorse
Holiday advert overdose
Cracker pullers whiplash
Queens speech catalepsy

I could go on but for fear of causing panic I will keep the list short, suffice to say Christmas is dangerous, how any of us ever survive it is a miracle, and after all isn't that what Christmas is all about?

Saving dummy Annie

noreply@blogger.com (Ian H) — Fri, 05 Dec 2008 18:59:00 +0000

First aid training today! So there I am pounding away on the naked chest of a woman one minute, the next I have my lips wrapped around hers whilst I blow gently to make her chest rise and fall. Considering Annie is made of plastic, this makes me feel like I'm writing an ad for one of those dodgy blow up dummies they advertise in the "personal" columns.

Such courses are a great leveller of people. It's hard to be superior whilst being manhandled into the recovery position, having your head bandaged, arms placed in slings and kissing dummies!

The worst bit of such courses is the face that they keep on changing the standards for various things, one time we did five compressions to two breaths, then 15 compressions to two breaths, now it's 30 compressions! I'd make a joke about inflation, but the alert one's amongst you will have noticed that the inflations stayed at two, whilst compressions went up.

Well must go it's time to practice my abdominal thrusts!

Today

noreply@blogger.com (Ian H) — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 23:29:00 +0000

I'm watching telly as I write this, well half watching half writing, you know what I mean. It's been a funny kind of day, got up a bit later than usual, and did some bits and pieces of my accounts, had breakfast, then wrote some emails. - Nothing funny so far...I know what you are thinking.

Later I went to see the nice people at 'Crossroads' (The charity not the 70's soap) that I will be working with soon. They were very nice made me feel welcome and very much at home. - still nothing laughable eh?..... Actually I've decided that it wasn't a funny day after all, just a bit different to normal.

Actually the more I think about today the more I see that actually it's been a perfectly normal day. So, I'm sorry I miss-led you before, honestly it was less of a lie, more of a did-not-think
-before-typing moment. (You may have noticed I have a lot of those.)

I have to do some training for me new job next week, it's the start of a series of training sessions to equip me for my new role. One of the days we have to take our washing and teeth cleaning gear...sounds like we are stopping overnight, but actually I guess it's so we can practice washing and cleaning each others teeth...Can't wait it's bound to be embarrassing in a kind of hilarious way. (Must make a mental note to get new face cloth and toothbrush, as the tatty one's I have now are not for public display - I do have some standards you know!)

So what can I write about my ordinary day? Nothing you'd like to read, so I''ll go now! Is that OK?

Frankenstone

noreply@blogger.com (Ian H) — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 15:18:00 +0000

On behalf of my hard working and dedicated team, and myself, I am pleased to announce a major breakthrough in the world of science. After many years of hard work, painstaking research, and many, many set-backs, we have finally achieved our aim. We would like to present to you the world's first GM stone.

'Rockus lumpus grittas' is the outcome of pioneering hybrid technology. This rock contains the core code characteristics of granite and a tomato. The 'tomanite' or 'granto' (take-your-pick) offers the best of both worlds.

People who need a robust fruit that won't bruise or burst will enjoy the general all round toughness of this fruit, whilst stonemasons will appreciate the ability to grow their own stocks of bright red rocks, suitable for sun drying.

The development team would however like to point out, that, as with many cutting edge developments, it's too early to say if this new product is commercially viable or safe for consumption. We'd also like to point out that the fruit may cause damage to teeth if bitten into and may cause rapid weight gain if consumed in large numbers. (Team members reportedly gained a stone in carefully controlled laboratory tests.)

¡ʇ,usı sıɥʇ - ¿ǝןʇıʇ ƃuınƃıɹʇuı

noreply@blogger.com (Ian H) — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 00:13:00 +0000

(¡ʇɥƃıɹ ʇı ʇuǝsǝɹd noʎ ɟı 'ƃuıʇıɹʍ ɥʇıʍ ʎɐʍɐ ʇǝƃ uɐɔ noʎ ןǝʌıɹp ʇɐɥʍ ƃuıʇɐuıɔsɐɟ ʇı ʇ,usı) ˙ǝǝs uɐɔ noʎ sɐ 'ʇɐɥʇ ʇsnɾ oʇ ǝɯıʇ sɐʍ ʇı pǝpıɔǝp uɐı 'ʇsıʍʇ ʍǝu ɐ ɟo pǝǝu uı sɐʍ ƃuıʇıɹʍ sɐʍ ǝɥ ʇɐɥʍ ʇɐɥʇ pǝpıɔǝp ƃuıʌɐɥ

Once upon a time.....

noreply@blogger.com (Ian H) — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 15:35:00 +0000

My kids used to love the game where I would start to make up a story, then stop, and then each of them would take it in turns make up the next chunk of the tale. I wondered if that would work via a my blog? So here goes,.... Please feel free to add your (clean, non-offensive) chunk to the story by adding a comment.

In at the deep end.
The back of Jack's head crashed repeatedly onto the rocks on the bed of the stream. His lungs were bursting as he surfaced briefly. He dragged in an urgent gulp of air, before the water covered his face again. He flailed his arms desperately trying to find something solid to hold onto to stop his continued rush down the icy stream.

His ice-numbed fingers clawed desperately at the smooth surface of the rocks, but failed to find a purchase. He moaned inwardly as his battered and bruised fingers were dragged painfully across the stream bed. His half opened eyes stung with the cold, he could see nothing save the pale light of the winter sun reflected and distorted by the rushing, splashing water. He felt his grip on life weaken as he started to slip into unconsciousness, when....

..suddenly he found himself flying through the air, propelled by a huge jet of water. He barely had time to gather his senses, and draw in a grateful lung full of air before the jet of water flung him headlong onto the bank. His head spinning from a combination of almost drowning, followed by his crashing down to earth, Jack lay stunned, desperately trying to make sense of what had just happened. All his aching head could recall was...

The not so big questions about life....

noreply@blogger.com (Ian H) — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 09:35:00 +0000

When I was a child I often wondered about these things;

1) Why is your bottom called a bottom, surely it should be called " halfway down your back?"

2) In the House of Lords how did they get such a strange voting system....
"The eyes on the left 42, the nose on the right 51, the eyes have it"?
(Then I saw a Picasso painting and wondered if he'd done it on a trip there?)

3) Was a fork in the road named because it looked like a fork, or the other way round?

4) What were House Martins' called before man lived in houses....Cave Martins?

5) Did the first ski jumper do it on purpose or was he just having a bad day?

6) If evolution works by favouring traits that develop the strongest and healthiest members of a species...and if vegetables are vital for a strong, healthy life - How come kid's don't like vegetables?

Hard of hairing?

noreply@blogger.com (Ian H) — Sun, 09 Nov 2008 15:50:00 +0000

I've done something hilariously funny this week, by which I mean that I've shaved off my full set and left myself with a moustache, and I've gone temporarily deaf in my left ear.

Now to the best of my knowledge these things are not connected in any way, apart from the obvious i.e. they both involve my head, and they are both plainly comedy gold.

I had not realised that either were so funny, but apparently the rest of the world think it's hugely funny.

Had I realised that the secret of comedy was so close at hand I'd have grown a top lip toupee and invested in earplugs quite some time back.

I have had a beard in one form another, off and on, for many years, and there was barely a comment. In fact it's pretty true to say that no-one ever commented whenever the beard came or went. But pretty much everyone noticed, felt free to laugh-out-loud, and make some highly witty remark, the nano-second my moustache appeared.

(Did you know that pogonophobia is the fear of beards and moustaches? Perhaps this sudden outbreak of cutting humour is a phobic nervous reaction?)

By now there cannot be many moustache jokes that I have not heard: "I moustache you why you grew that." "Is that really a moustache or has your eyebrow come down for a drink??" "Is that a moustache or a hearthrug for your nose?"

The deafness was the real surprise. I mean isn't it wrong to mock the afflicted? Yet people laugh, whisper, then shout, in a mock apologetic way, "Sorry forgot you were a bit deaf"!

Others simply say "pardon?" repeatedly whenever I speak to them, which is soooo hilariously funny that I don't know how to cope, my poor aching sides that are so close to bursting at this highly original joke - not!

Still, I suppose that while they are taking the rip out of me they are leaving some other poor sap alone. It's good to be loved eh?

Writing wrongs

noreply@blogger.com (Ian H) — Sat, 08 Nov 2008 00:25:00 +0000

Being funny on the page, I have concluded, is harder than being funny in real life. Stuff that works well on the fly, with people you are in conversation with, does not work when you write it down. I have learned this by watching people read this blog, I note that very often they don't get the humour once it's encoded in writing. Yet they laugh readily when I blather on and use the same ideas out loud.

The first few times that I watched while people read my stuff I was secretly hoping that they were laughing inside, silently, at all my wonderful wordplay and wit. Then I realised that they were not laughing inside or out, which hurt. I asked what they thought and they all said it was OK, but less funny when written than when it was spoken.

So.... I'm learning that to do a blog, I'll have to find out what makes the written word funny. I'm also learning that I'll have to learn not to be precious about things...if it's not funny it's not funny. This is a hard lesson to learn because down the years I've learned that most of the time I can make people laugh, and making people laugh has become part of how I am with people - finding it doesn't work quite the same in my blog makes me feel quite vulnerable. But like anything worth doing, there's a learning curve to be clambered up, in the meantime I'll have to learn to be a big boy and get on with life!

Time? Travel?

noreply@blogger.com (Ian H) — Tue, 04 Nov 2008 20:16:00 +0000

I can't make my mind up on the pro's and con's of time travel. I mean I can see a lot of advantages, going back in time and studying history, or going forward in time to get next weeks lottery numbers. But, I can also see some big potential drawbacks.

Take for instance how difficult it can be to find people, if you need to get hold of them in a hurry. It can be hard enough to find people who can only move around in the relative confines of space, how hard would it be if people could nip off into time, whenever the mood took them.

Imagine for example you want to find your eldest child to sort out the phone bill one day. "Where's Natalie love?" you might ask your wife. "I don't know she's out I think?" might come the reply. "Where?", you might ask, hoping to track her down. "I don't know Chris'? I think they said they were nipping out to watch the Armada today?" So, now you've not just got large chunks of the physical world to search for the phone hogging daughter, but you have to consider searching those same large chunks of the world back in 1580 as well!

Life would be chaotic! Fashion mad wives would be able to nip back to the 60's to visit Carnaby Street to pick up some retro fashion bargains, at pre-metric prices. Dodgy car dealers could have a field day nipping back and forth in time, turning back clocks, and juggling log books galore. eBay would be full of iffy tickets, for all kinds of things ranging from the Battle of Waterloo, through to Elvis and Beatles gigs, not to forget the Moon landing.

The bottom would fall out of the collectibles market when any Tom, Dick or Harry could nip back to pick up an original Michelangelo, or Star Wars action toy. It would be murder trying to sort out the oil price without some shifty sheik wandering back and forth through time to find the optimum sellers market for his light sweet crude. Vintage champagne and 25 year old malt whisky would never be quite what they used to be either.

The lottery, and gambling in general, would tie itself in ever tighter knots trying to find a cheat proof formula, until, having gone round in ever decreasing circles it disappeared down it's own wormhole.

Then there is the risk of time terrorism? Personally I don't want to be around when Adolf Hitler, Stalin, and Genghis Khan, and The Vikings decide they want a rematch all on the same Saturday afternoon. Talk about fixture scheduling problems!

No, I've decided I have enough problems finding my keys in this dimension without making things more complicated than they already are. I still wake up feeling guilty about school homework I did not finish all those many years ago, without needing the added fear that the terrifying Mrs Young will suddenly materialise one Monday afternoon demanding to know where it is. Time travel is fine for the telly, which is perfect for me as the nearest I want to come to time travel is skipping through the adverts on Sky+!

The blankness of an empty mind.......

noreply@blogger.com (Ian H) — Tue, 04 Nov 2008 19:15:00 +0000

Right, I've decided to quit, quitting. I'm determined to beat this writers block thing, after all writing a few words on whatever subject I choose can't be that hard can it? All I have to do is look around me and draw some inspiration from the things I see.....

That flipping cursor, it's doing it again. "Come on then, if you are erudite enough, write you big Jesse!" How can a full grown man be so intimidated by a cursor, after all what is it? It nothing, just a few pixels, on one second off the next. How can it make me feel so daunted, with just that confounded -on -off'ing?

I've never really taken much notice of it before today, Oh occasionally I'd not be able to see where it was, so would worry something was wrong with the PC, but my focus would really be on my mouse. I'd be frantically wiggling it to make the cursor appear, then when I did find it, I'd get on with whatever I was supposed to be doing, cursor forgotten. It's one of those little things in life that you only really notice when it's not there. Unless like me you happen to have suddenly found yourself being stared down by it, as you try to conjure up the words for a blog or whatever.

Anyway this isn't getting the flipping thing written. I really must concentrate, and focus, yes focus that's what I need. What is it athletes talk about, being in the zone? How do I get into the zone? Focus on the finish line, or a little beyond it, that's the trick isn't it? Where's my finish line? I suppose it's the final full stop that I'll triumphantly put in place when I've finished this piece for my blog. If I ever do finish it. So, focus...argh! I.ve just looked up to focus on that final full stop and realised that whenever I put a full stop in place, that blasted cursor is there blinking at me, goading me to write more, is there no end to this? That's it I really do give up now!

No! I'm not a quitter, I can do this, there must be something blogworthy lurking untapped in my creativity zone, somewhere isn't there?

I guess if I was really smart I could write about the barren virgin whiteness of the crisp paper beneath my glistening pen nib. Except of course that I'm writing this electronically, so it would have to be the virgin light greyness of the screen before me, which does not sound half as good or feel in the least bit inspiring....

noreply@blogger.com (Ian H) — Mon, 03 Nov 2008 17:01:00 +0000

Dear Prime Minister,

Thank you, (not very much) for your letter, and comments in reply to my suggestions on how to help fund the extra borrowing needed to get us out of the current economic mire.

I was aware that the it is Chancellor of the Exchequer who is responsible for economic and financial matters, but I was brought up on the firm understanding that it is best to address the "organ grinder" not the "monkey" hence my writing to you. I thought it won't be much of hassle for you to get a minion to photocopy my letter and to nip next door to pop it through Alistair's letter box.

I must also point out that I find your comments thanking me for giving you "a good laugh and lightening a busy day", most offensive. You appear to harbouring the erroneous idea that I was writing suggesting; the idea of taller people paying higher taxes, in jest! Far from it, my ideas were out forward in serious good faith at this time of severe economic peril.

I note from today's paper that you are 5'11" tall, a fact that tells it's own tale, and explains your disparaging remarks, plainly you are acting out of self interest in attempting to pour cold water on my proposals. This was somewhat short sighted and reactionary on your behalf, as my proposal was only going to kick in for people over six feet tall. Perhaps in the light of this information you might like to re-consider the idea? (It might be wise if you avoided copying in the Chancellor at this point, as I note from several photo's of you both in the press that he looks to be taller than you.)

Yours etc...

noreply@blogger.com (Ian H) — Sun, 02 Nov 2008 22:26:00 +0000

Dear Prime minister,

I note that you have chosen to ignore my advice on the current financial crisis, namely my suggestion that we increase taxation, to speed the repayment of the burgeoning national debt, by charging higher rates of tax for taller people.

I can't understand why you are holding back on implementing this common sense tax, after all taller people by their very nature consume more resources than smaller people. For example tall people require more shoe leather for their larger feet, more cloth for their clothing, and as they usually weigh more than small people they consume more fuel to move them around. I could go on, but I think you get the picture?

Tall people should also find it easier to be more productive, they can take the stairs two at a time, and cover distances in fewer strides. Also they don't have to get up to reach that pencil at the far end of their desk. Many studies show that tall people tend to do well in life, I suspect as a result of these inbuilt advantages and consequently they should be able to easily afford the extra taxes.

Tall people, also benefit from the fact that warm air rises, whilst shorter people suffer from living in a colder climate as cold air sinks. (You'll note however that being a reasonable man I am not whingeing on for increased heating allowance for shorter folks, even though there is plainly a case to be made in favour of such an allowance.)

I fully appreciate that there are some who would argue against my proposals, but I'm sure that if you care to note these will all be people with a vested interest in opposing my ideas...i.e. tall people. Please do not hesitate to contact me should you require any further assistance or advice on how to run the economy. I look forward with interest to hearing from you.

Yours Faithfully,
Me
A concerned subject of HM Queen.

Car-tastrophe

noreply@blogger.com (Ian H) — Sat, 01 Nov 2008 18:25:00 +0000

That worrying car ad has just been on again. You know the one where lots of cars have helium filled balloons attached, and are then set free to float wherever the wind blows them?

Where was the health and safety guy when they came up with that idea?

I mean, am I the only person to spot the negative publicity when several one and a half tonne cars come crashing down on innocent people? Or is that the idea? I think I'm right in noting that all the floating cars are competitors of the company in the ad? Do they think that people will blame their competitors when their dear old granny is squished by a medium sized saloon car, as it arrives through the ceiling of her sheltered accommodation at terminal velocity? I think that people might see through that ploy, and that there might be something of a resultant consumer backlash as people's houses are dive-bombed by hot hatches that have run out of gas!

Maybe I'm wrong tho', as to date I have not heard anything in the press and you'd think that it might make a headline or two? I'm sure that the tabloid headline writers would consider it a gift. "Vanna from Heaven brings down the house", or perhaps, "Runnaround rampages through roof", or maybe "Add-ie's Car hit my hamster!"

The other possible explanation is that the ballons were super strength and that instead of the cars coming to earth they have gone into orbit. In which case we 'll have to wait a while for those tabloid headlines. "VW Polo found on Moon" is my guess. What do you think?

Don't Panic...much...

noreply@blogger.com (Ian H) — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 11:05:00 +0000

Just when I thought it was going to be one of those average days when nothing much happens, I received a phone call to ask me to go and see if my MIL (Mother-in-law) was OK.

She has one of those buttons where you can call for help if you have a "turn" when you are on your own. (For years I though "having a turn" was a bit rude, as acts at the local working man's club were always referred to as "the turn." Hence I always blushed when people said things like "Old Mrs Johnson had a funny turn last night.")

Anyhow I digress.... So I dropped what I had planned to do, put on my concerned face, and set off to see how the MIL is and what the fuss is about.

The journey took far longer than normal, as it normal for any journey I make when said journey is urgent. Eventually I arrive at MIL's house, and let myself in. MIL is not unconscious in the hallway foaming at the mouth, so my worst fears are avoided, no need for any mouth to mouth stuff. (shudder - sorry dear MIL, much as I love you there are boundaries I'd prefer not to cross!!)

MIL is sat on a kitchen chair with her leg up, displaying the mother of all blood blisters. It was as if someone had glued half a blood coloured ostrich egg to her shin. The skin was drawn tighter than a balloon skin and looked ready to burst! It transpired that she'd been the victim of a hit and run accident involving a three litre pop bottle. The bottle in question having fallen from a supermarket conveyor and struck MIL a nasty glancing blow on her shin.

It was clear that whilst very painful her injuries were not life threatening, well that was unless that huge blood blister burst. If it did I feared that we'd both suffer life threatening injuries as MIL rocketed and bounced round the room propelled by a stream of red jet fuel, like a balloon set free.

MIL's alarm service had automatically sent for an ambulance, so in a moment or two we were joined by a paramedic carrying a large orange rucksack, only slightly larger than the huge blood blister which continued to grow. (I swear I heard MIL's skin creak under the pressure as the swelling increased.)

Even our new friend the paramedic looked impressed, in fact he looked worryingly transfixed, as we both watched and wondered will it blow? He informed us that "a proper ambulance" would be with us shortly. MIL looked puzzled, "what do you do then? I thought you were the ambulance?" "No I'm the first response man", said the paramedic unzipping the back of his huge orange pack.

Being fascinated by all things medical I peaked in to see what medical wonders lay within. He pulled out a bulging A4 folder, and began to fire questions at MIL in quick succession. Then it struck me, far from being crammed with medical equipment the pack was actually a portable NHS admin office!

MIL was by now exhausted, not by the injury but by the list of questions that the first response man fired at her. Admin man decided that he'd better do something medical now the ream of forms was filled in. "I can check your blood pressure if that's OK?" (It came out more like... "There is little point checking your blood pressure, all your blood is obviously under pressure and right now it's preparing to do an impression of "Ol' Faithful" the geyser on your shin.")

MIL nodded her consent, and response man took her pressure and made more notes. "Is it OK?" MIL asked. "Nothing to worry about", replied response man, worryingly. His "proper ambulance" colleagues duly arrived, introduced themselves and then they too stared in awe at MIL's new appendage. They consulted briefly and all agreed a trip to hospital was required. This didn't make a lot of sense to MIL as it seemed to her that half the NHS was now standing in her tiny kitchen fussing over a blood blister, albeit one of record dimensions. The medics were insistent so MIL gave in and agreed to go with them. MIL was lashed lovingly to a chair and wheeled out to the waiting ambulance.

There was a stiff breeze as every curtain in the close twitched in unison! MIL's two vehicle, three medic, emergency would be headline news on the jungle drums tonight. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I drove off, somehow I knew man pairs of unseen eyes were watching my every move.

I arrived at the hospital shortly after MIL. At the reception window I was greeted with typical NHS efficiency. "Sorry sir you can't go in, no one of that name is here." I begged to disagree, explaining that I had just followed the ambulance bringing her. "Maybe she's gone to another hospital? proffered the receptionist. "Not unless the NHS has equipped the ambulance with a transporter room and beamed her there!" I quipped.

Apparently some hospital receptionists have their sense of humour removed for hygiene reasons, mine was one of them. "Sorry I can't help you sir" was her witty rejoinder. At that point a disinterested colleague who'd been waiting to speak to the receptionist joined the fray. "Don't suppose that's her is it?" she said pointing her clipboard through a doorway to my right. "She's just arrived and is being booked in now."

"OH, that woman in that ambulance" chipped in the receptionist, the penny finally dropping. Thanking them both I said it was her, and walked over to join MIL in a cubicle.

Now I know I'm in danger of becoming cynical, but I'm becoming increasingly convinced that one of the things that gets you pushed up any NHS waiting list is "injury interestingness". MIL's injury was plainly very interesting. In no time flat we'd been seen by two nurses and three doctors, such was the drawing power of MIL's mega blood blister. (Or haematoma as the professionals referred to it.)

They consulted, at first quietly, but eventually openly so we could hear. They had a plan. Their collective opinion was that blood must be let! (So much for modern medical progress!) MIL was reassured that "this will not hurt", one of life's great lies, second only to "the cheque is in the post."

The largest and most impressive of the assembled doctors prepared to take action. He was a tall dark, (African?) and irritatingly good looking doctor, with a sonorous voice. "I'm just going to use this little needle to puncture the blister, we'll aspirate the blood, as if we leave it ,the flesh will become necrotic and we'll have problems"

MIL looked blank. "OK" he said "I'm going to prick you with this needle and draw out the blood, if we leave it your skin will die and that is not good". MIL looked worried, I could see her thinking would all my skin die? If it did what would I wear? Would I be cold without my skin?

She stopped thinking these odd thoughts and said, "you'd better get on with it then!"

The process began. The doctor made his first incision, and blood spurted forth, well that was the expectation. But it looked as if MIL's blood egg was hard boiled!

"Have another go" said MIL, still somewhat fearful of losing all her skin. "I don't want to open any more entries", said the tall dark and annoyingly handsome one. Gently he squeezed the blister, he was rewarded by the tiniest drop of blood. He squeezed harder. MIL by now having realised that "this won't hurt" does not mean what it says, grimaced and muttered something under her breath. Whatever it was, was plainly not for sharing with people before the watershed.

Did that hurt? Said one of the other doctors grimacing herself. "Of course it did"chimed MIL and tall dark doc in unison.

Five squeezing, grimacing and muttering minutes later and the op is over. MIL lies back and relaxes, "it feels much better now" she says. "Good" says the doc, "that was the plan."
"Now he tells us" says MIL

The nurse now joins the fray and MIL's leg is dressed from knee to toe in bandages. "Is this necessary?" MIL asks. "I'm afraid it is" replies the nurse smiling, "I have shares in the bandage company!"

An hour later and MIL is now safely ensconced in her home and I can return to my ordinary day, as the adventure of the MIL's blood blister is over. She won't let me make a brew for her or cook her some tea. She's had enough of people fussing now. Independent as ever she refuses to stay inside as I leave, and comes out to wave me off. "See", she says, "I told you fizzy drinks were not good for you!"

Minding my aches

noreply@blogger.com (Ian H) — Thu, 30 Oct 2008 12:10:00 +0000

I've had the "man-flu" for the last few days, and for once I'm getting some sympathy from the others in my family, mainly because they had it before me, so having sought sympathy themselves they can hardly deny me my fair share.

Being ill is harder than I remember. It's not the dealing with the symptoms that is hard, that's a given. It's striking the balance between being "brave" and toughing it out, and being "poorly" enough to gain the only benefit of being ill, a bit of TLC from my family. In writing this looks very cold and calculated, when in reality I'm simply being open about how I think most of us are about being ill.

Of course I don't sit\lie there thinking what can I get out of this? (honest I don't). I'm talking about those little opportunist things that present themselves, like being able to ask someone to make you a brew, without them replying..."Get it yourself, and make me one for being so cheeky." Or asking someone to bring you the TV remote so you don't have to move from under the nice warm quilt.

Now these are not big benefits in themselves, but they are worth having when you are feeling poorly. They help to re-assure you that you are loved even though you have a red dripping nose ,a hacking cough and bed hair, that is not bed hair by design. Feeling loved when you look less than lovable is a big thing, in my world anyway.

So here I am, dosed up on Day-Nurse and Strepsills, rapidly working my way through an industrial sized box of tissues. (OK I lie, the tissues ran out and I'm on loo roll now). I'm at that nice in-between stage, you know, the one; you are not so ill that all you want to do is sleep, but you can't sleep because you can't breathe. But, not yet recovered enough for normal activities. It's the stage before; the one labelled "I'm sick of watching daytime TV on this impossibly uncomfortable couch."

So here I am at optimum illness levels, and I'm frustrated because we have men in laying laminate flooring today. So I'm stuck in the office typing this, as for some reason their work involves all the doors being wide open, so the only quiet, warm room is my office.

I'm not ill enough to take to my bed, if I do I know I won't sleep tonight. But I'm too ill to be sat on this office chair with only my PC for company. Normally I love being "on-line" but today being opti-ill and being forced to entertain myself on line feels like an imposition. It's made worse by the fact that despite being so sick, I feel obliged to make the workmen in the house a brew mevery hour on the hour. Deep inside I know at this phase of man-flu I should be the recipient of brews, not the one making them, so life grates a little today.

"Stumble-Upon" that 'Russian roulette' of surfing, was once something I loved, but now I'm bored with it. It's teasing me, making matters worse by repeatedly showing me the same sites I saw earlier, despite them being given the thumbs down. Is there no justice?

Now my laminate lay-ers are using the noisiest power tools in the world, over the top of Radio 2 blaring away. My concentration is going and the Day-Nurse is wearing off so I'd better go.
Doh! Just realised there is no-where to go. I'm stuck in the office as they are working behind my office door so I'm trapped.

What is it about the word trapped that sends a signal to my bladder? As soon as I realise I'm stuck in the office I feel a primitive urge to pass water. Why? I only went a little while ago? It's all in the mind, just relax and the urge will pass I'm sure.

I "Stumble" on looking for distractions. Ten less than relaxed minutes later, I realise that a brew every hour for the last five hours was not a good idea. By now the need is becoming increasingly urgent. I'd consider climbing out of the window, but it means moving heavy furniture. "Going to be long!?" I shout. Then I realise, the sounds of working have ceased. I'm just left with Radio 2 droning on. "Hello" I shout, then I twig, they have stacked stuff tidily behind the door, trapping me and now they have gone to find some lunch! I hope they don't take a whole hour I don't think I'll last that long!

Saturday!

noreply@blogger.com (Ian H) — Sat, 25 Oct 2008 16:51:00 +0000

It's Saturday, and for once I've had a late lie in. Oh what a luxury! There's a down side though, (isn't there always?) Now I have to fit all the things I need to do into a Saturday into fewer hours, or risk working late and undoing all that restful goodness that I gained from sleeping in.

So I need a plan. This calls for some multi-tasking!
Now there are times when doing more than one thing at once comes naturally; sleeping and dreaming for example, or reading the paper and listening to the radio for another example. But, life has taught me that there is some good sense in doing one thing at once. I mean you have no idea how angry a Policeman can get if you drive you car whilst preparing soup. Trust me he didn't appreciate the skill involved in multi-tasking at all. I've often wondered if a Policewoman would have taken a more understanding view? After all they reckon that women are more adept at doing two things at once. Actually I can testify to that as a fact, I mean we all know that women can say one thing and mean another. This dual mental approach to what they say, and what they mean obviously makes them better suited to doing more than one thing at once!

My plan is cunning simple, and if it comes off it will reduce the multi-tasking process to one of elegant simplicity. What I have decided to do is; to do one job, whilst instructing my ~~willing assistant~~ sullen teenage to do another for me. Of course I won't tell Joel (name of sullen son involved) what my plan is. All I have to do is hope that he does not twig. So off we go with the first two tasks, emptying the various rubbish bins in the house. I cunningly grab the nearest one and send Joel off to grab two of them from upstairs.

For once Joel complies with my request, and now I've emptied three bins in the time it would take me to do one. This multi-tasking is easy!

Next job sweep the floor, so I grab the brush and send Joel for the dustpan. Fifteen sweaty minutes later I have swept the floor and have the sweepings carefully corralled into a neat pile. Then I realise Joel has not returned. So I hunt him down and dig him out from next room, where he is sat messing about with dustpan in hand. Five minutes later I now have completed the sweeping up and sweepings are disposed of. But, my sharp mind spots that I have done a lot of work, while son has done very little, and had to find son to complete the task. Multi-tasking has not worked on this job.

Job number three. Put away the shopping now that my wife has returned from Supermarket. Attack this dread task with gusto, keen to get it out of the way as quickly as possible. I pull things from the various shopping bags and stack them on kitchen work surface. My wife then instructs Joel and I where to store them. (I've tried simply putting them away myself, but for some reason whenever I do that, I manage to put them in the wrong place...even if it's where my wife put them last week!)

Task going well, when I realise I'm single tasking, so I quickly involve aforementioned son to help by putting away the canned stuff. Now, our kitchen is very small, and with three of us grabbing things and opening cupboard doors at the same time chaos ensues! One of us is always in the way of the other. So we are either moving to grab a new item to put away, or being moved so someone can access a cupboard, or waiting for someone to move so we can access a cupboard. Progress is slow and patience is being tried, so I make an executive decision to ease the problem, I leave them to it.

Two minutes later sullen son stops too, so hapless wife is left doing task alone. I don't like this heartless act of desertion by our son, especially as I am likely to get asked to re-engage with the dread task. So I rebuke son for stopping helping, son takes offence for some inexplicable reason at this rebuke, so a ferocious row erupts....

...Twenty minutes later, and the row is over. Carol has by now finished stowing the shopping. Time to review multi-tasking effectiveness on the shopping task. Not great. I realise that it's taken longer for three of us to do this task, than it would have done had two of us simply co-operated and left sullen son out of it.

Decide multi tasking is not for me, and that I will stick to supervising Joel on one task at a time in the future. Sit down with brew feeling happy that I've identified the way can be most productive from here onwards, just hope Joel does not read this blog or my plan may be scuppered!

Have you ever wondered..?

noreply@blogger.com (Ian H) — Fri, 24 Oct 2008 23:01:00 +0000

If you have ever wondered who would win a fight between Moomintroll and the Soup Dragon, then you are probably one of those people I'd like to meet.Too many people only speculate about big heavy serious things, like where will the economic meltdown cause by sub-prime mortgages end? This heavyweight thinking is bad for you, so don't do it!

I mean unless you are Gordon Brown, or the Governor of the Bank of England you probably can't do much about such matters. (And truth be known we are not sure that those guys can stop the avalanche anyway, are we?) So in reality you might as well mull over who would win the heavyweight championship of retro children's TV.

If you are going to worry about something I'd like to suggest that you focus on worries about fighting fictional TV characters. It's much easier to lay down these type of worries when it's time to sleep. I mean who in their right mind would lie awake at night calculating the odds of a Soup Dragon win? No-one right? So the trick is to worry about the irrlevant that you can shrug off when it's time to doze.

So hopefully now you can see it makes sense to worry about trivia, it's more fun that the real world, and your worrying has equal impact on both reality and fiction. So now we are agreed that Moomin is as valid a subject for worry as money, lets get on with life.

Don't get me wrong money is important and the global credit crunch is a serious problem, which people need to be working hard on solving. But worrying won't change a thing, so lets' get a right sense of proportion here - thinking good, worrying bad.

In case you are one of those sad, ill people who are now obsessing about the outcome of that fight, let me put your weary minds to rest. Moomin would easily win, cos Moomin is well 'ard, and the Soup Dragon is a girl!