Steady now

What I did on my holidays

2006-10-24T12:41:00.000+00:00

No, it isn't me doing the acrobatics. What I did on my holidays was take pictures of people exerting themselves from a sunbed at a safe distance. More of my photography and illustrations can be seen at my deviantArt pages

Town and Council preposterous bye-laws act 1993

2006-10-10T12:05:00.000+00:00

Town and Parish councils in England and Wales are required, by law, to have at least one preposterous bye-law on their statute books. The laws, the act states, although enforcable should not be acted upon except for publicity purposes, and for the general amusement of town and parish councillors.

An amendment to the act was added in 1994 to prevent parish councils abusing the spirit of the act and "placing unreasonable and draconian burdens" on parishoners. (See Puxton.) Due to the 1994 amendment, it is now illegal for a town or parish council to pass laws that:

• make it legal for a driver to be blindfolded while operating a vehicle;
• make it illegal for boogers to be flicked into the wind;
• prevent villagers carrying ice cream cones in their back pockets;
• restrict villagers from wearing cowboy boots unless at least two cows are owned by the villager;
• punish toad licking;
• legislate against men being seen publicly in any kind of strapless gown;
• make it lawful to collect parking fees for elephants;
• make it unlawful to eat cottage cheese on Sunday after 6:00 P.M;
• insist that all residents must own a rake;
• making "Spiteful Gossip" and "talking behind a person's back" illegal;
• fining residents who wish to fish from a camel's back;
• punish people for making faces at dogs.

A 1995 amendment also made it illegal to force one-armed piano players to perform for free.

Insurance claims

2006-09-19T18:47:00.000+00:00

You don't say...

"I hit a giant plastic mouse coming down the car park ramp".

Q? Could anything have been done to avoid the accident?
A? I could have travelled by train.

"Windscreen broken. Don't know how. Could be Black Magic".

"My wife pulled my hair causing me to turn into a lamp standard".

"I didn't make a note of the witnesses names as in their ignorance they said I was at fault".

"The witness gave his occupation as a gentleman".

"I sounded my horn, but it didn't work as it had been stolen".

"The wheels went into a ditch, and my foot jumped from the brake to the accelerator, leapt across the ditch and hit a tree trunk".

"I am very interested in keeping the vehicle, and would like you to consider a 'cash in loo' settlement".

"I was travelling along at 70mph on my motorcycle when my girlfriend reached around and squeezed my testicles causing me to lose control".

"I was not aware that the speed limit applied after midnight".

Q? Do you engage in any pastimes of a dangerous nature?
A. I watch Noel's House Party and Beadle's About.

"I had one eye on a girl on the pavement, another on a parked lorry, and another on the approaching traffic".

"I was crossing from Edgware Road to Park Lane in the direction of Margate".

"There were plenty of on-lookers but not one decent witness".

"My car was stolen. I made a human cry but it has not come back".

"On entering Wales I blew my horn at the right hand corner".

"I slept in the tramlines and skidded on Friday".
"The other driver turned into a coal sack".

"None of the parties' know me, so my evidence is immaterial".

"I will pay more when I do some more time".

"I left my Austin 7 outside. When I came back I was amazed to see an Austin 12".

"I cannot give details of the accident as I was concussed at the time".

"She saw me and lost her head".

"I told the other idiot exactly what he was and drove on".

"I was going to the hospital with rear end problems when my viscous coupling fell off causing me to have the accident".

"I couldn't get any witnesses to admit seeing the incident until after it happened".

It jumped out in front of me...

"I had been to the garden centre to buy some plants. As I reached the junction a tree sprang up blocking my view so I didn't see the other car".

"The shopper reversed around the corner, denting his car on a signpost. Luckily for him the signpost offered 'free quotes for accident repairs'".

"A signpost hit my car bending it in two places".

"As the lamp post approached I tried to swerve out of the way, but I hit the front end".

"At the junction, a stop sign appeared where there wasn't one before. I couldn't stop in time and hit the other car".

"I hit a telephone pole hiding behind a human".

"I was keeping in line with the left hand lamp posts. A bend in the road brought a right hand lamp post in line with the others and of course I ended up in the river".

"The gate-post will testify there was no damage to the car".

And finally...

Our Birmingham Branch sent a client his new "TRANSIT" policy but this was sent back saying that surely a mistake had been made as he ran a Mercedes"

Just the facts Mam

2006-06-28T07:29:00.000+00:00

Did you know Kylie Minogue is half Welsh? Or that Rolf Harris was born in Cardiff? Did you know that a Welsh mathematician invented the equals sign? No? Then you need Ffaith.

Ffaith, Welsh for fact, is BrynmawrScene's latest project. It is a coffee-time compendium of Welsh fact that anyone can edit. Even you... especially you. We have over three hundred pages in our compendium so far but we haven't even scratched the surface of Welsh achievement. And we need your help.

Pop over and have a read, if you spot anything or anyone we haven't got around to yet start a new article - full instructions are included on the site. We aren't looking for long encyclopedic entries, we're leaving that to the Welshpedia, just a paragraph or two with the salient facts will do.

Ffaith can be found here: ffaith.brynmawrscene.net

Silly suds

2006-06-15T08:48:00.000+00:00

A friend of mine accidently put his memory stick through the wash yesterday. He says it still works but now it's got all his missing socks on it.

I never knew they were Welsh

2006-05-10T13:00:00.000+00:00

I knew we were a talented lot, us Welsh. And as a full-blooded, card carrying Taff who has been listed on the Rugby depenancy register all his life I am well aware of our celebrity heritage. Who doesn't know the lineage of Catherine Zeta Jones, Charlotte Church, Tom Jones, Anthony Hopkins, Shirley Bassey and Richard Burton? We all know too the slightly less famous but nontheless just as Welsh Rob Brydon, John Humphrys, Rhys Ifans and Ioan Gruffud. Ok, the last two names are a bit of a give away but did you know that Dawn French was born in Wales? Or Ian Hislop? Or Ray Milland? Well neither did I, but it was Welsh air that filled the newborn lungs of each of these famous names.

Ms French made her debut in Y Gors maternity home in Holyhead. Her father was serving on a nearby RAF base. The jovial editor of Private Eye and "Have I got news for you" panellist, Ian Hislop, drew his first breath in Mumbles near Swansea while Holywood legend Ray Milland took his first bow as Reginald Alfred Truscott-Jones in Neath.

Hands up who knew the avuncular animal magician, Johnny Morris was a Taff? I had always thought he was a Bristolian Zookeeper. But he had been born in Newport - and he wasn't a zookeeper either!

The list is endless. Tommy Cooper? Born in Caerphilly. Tessie O'Shea? Born in Cardiff. Dorothy Squires? Pontyberem born. Even Rolf Harris' parents were from Merthyr Tydfil. Ever heard of Everest? The mountain was named after Welsh surveryor and geographer George Everest. Lawrence of Arabia? Welsh too, although admitedly of mixed Irish and Scottish ancestry the fact is that he was born in Tremadog, Caernarfonshire. But had he been interested in playing football he could have represented the land of our fathers. And lets face it, they'll take anyone they can get - remember Vinny Jones? Welsh... apparently.

It's not all good news though. John Prescott was born in the somewhat aptly named Prestatyn. And last and probably least, Helen Adams, or Helen from Big Brother as she is better known was born and bred in Wales. While she is to be commended for failing to win the Channel 4 reality show she let her slip show when she stunned us with her revelation: "I love blinking I do."

Do us a favour Helen - please don't go around telling everybody you're Welsh.

The world's easiest quiz

2006-04-13T12:45:00.000+00:00

1. How long did the Hundred Years War last?

2. Which country makes Panama hats?

3. From which animal do we get catgut?

4. In which month do Russians celebrate the October Revolution?

5. What is a camel's hair brush made of?

6. The Canary Islands in the Atlantic are named after what animal?

7. What was King George VI's first name?

8. What color is a purple finch?

9. Where are Chinese gooseberries from?

10. How long did the Thirty Years War last?

Click here for the answers

Babel bashing

2006-04-13T12:32:00.000+00:00

Alta Vista's translation service is a brilliant free service for the web but it is not without its faults. When including a link to the feature from the web sites I build for my clients I've often wondered what, for instance, a Portugese visitor might be seeing. So I tried it for myself. And because I can't speak Portugese I used the service to translate it back - with some hilarious results. It got me thinking... what if Shakespeare had been Portugese.... and his translator Greek. Perhaps Hamlet's most famous speech might have looked like this:

Enter SmallBacon:

You be or not you be: that one is the question:
Tis of the sheep castrated more splendid in the understanding, in order to suffer
to the belts and to the arrows from the outrageous rich,
or to check of the levers of the arms for meeting a sea of the problems,
and, is impudent and opposed, in order to terminate it. It dies, sleeps -
more terminates, and thus a sleep to vouch for
heartache stop and the thousand natural impacts
that the meat is inheriting
Die, sleep. Sleep, by chance for dreaming. Hey, here is a Chinese burn,
stops in this sleep of the death that dreams can come
when we waltz over the edge of this mortal bobbin
if we give them the break. It has respectively act, which for
state of emergency therefore are enough for life span,
for who would load the whips and scorns of the time,
The error of Th'oppressor, proud man contumely,
pangs of disprized the love, the delay of the law,
insolence of the office, and spurns
this patient distinction of taking th'unworthy,
when he himself could its quietous make with
one bodkin uncovered? Who these fardels load,
to make pig noise and to sweat under a tired life,
but that one dread of something after the death,
the country not yet explored whose it Bourn
no traveller returns, enigmas the will,
and in they make them to rather to load those problems we stops having
of whom it stops flying to others where we know not?
Thus conscience makes cobardes of us all,
and thus indiginous skin colour of the definition
is sick over the pale mold of the thought,
and the companies of pith great of the moment
with this consideration that its currents turn awry,
and loses the name of the action. Soft you, now,
the Ophelia just! - the nymph in orisons thy
either all mine sins remembered.

Top time saving tips

2006-03-17T14:11:00.000+00:00

Well, it's been a while since I promised to write regular articles for Steady now. The problem has not been one of lack of inspiration, but rather a lack of time. Or more precisely, poor time management on my part. After all, there are the same number of hours in my day as there were in Einstein's or Picasso's and they managed to get things done!

I think we could all benefit from a few tips about time management so I trawled the interweb, grubbing around on its sandy bottom looking for pearls of wisdom. I wasn't disappointed. As with every imaginable subject the interweb proved to be a fount of venerable wisdom on time management starting from the moment of waking:

A mouse trap placed on top on of your alarm clock will prevent you from
rolling over and going back to sleep. (Source: Viz)

Brilliant - so now you're wide awake and up out of bed, what other ways are there of saving time? Well, if you are one of the xx million people who enjoy a microwaved meal you might like to consider these tips offered by Steve Pavlina on his website:

Instead of pressing 1-0-0 to heat an item for a minute or 1-3-0 for a minute and a half, use 6-0 for 60 seconds and 9-0 for 90 seconds, and save yourself that extra digit. Learn to type two digits for anything up to 99 seconds. You’ll save time and also reduce wear and tear on your keypad. You can shave more precious nano-seconds by punching in 88 instead of 90 or 55 instead of 60. You'll spend less time typing and your food will be ready seconds sooner.

While we are on the subject of food, why not keep your house at 4°C. That way you can keep food where you need it - milk and cheese on the kitchen counter, beer by the sofa ready for the big match on TV, which gives me another idea...

English football fans can save a whole lot of time, and avoid disappointment, by doing what Welsh football fans have done for years. Namely assuming that their team will either lose or draw 0-0 and not bothering to watch the match. This simple measure will also reduce stress and prolong life expectancy so there are benefits all round. The day after the match you can save the time normally wasted by listening to taunts about your team's performance by immediately punching your protagonist in the face. That normally shuts them up.

Here's one that will save a lot of time for wives: don't bother washing your husbands dirty shirts - donate them to a charity shop. They will wash and iron the shirt and you can buy them back far more cheaply than using a laundrette and an ironing service. And men, have a bit of consideration for your wives. When listening to your music system, turn it up to the volume you want then back it off three notches. This will save the little lady from doing it herself. (Source: Viz)

And finally, another tip from Vizif you have to get a dog, don't buy a Daschund as they take twice as long to stroke as other dogs.

Zen and the art of writing

2006-03-06T17:15:00.000+00:00

Nobody knows, as a writer knows, the panic that can be instilled by the sight of a blank piece of paper.

Well, OK. Some Illustrators might. And artists if one uses license and allow that a canvas is in fact nothing more that a deluxe sheet of paper. And certain graphic and packaging designers.

Printers.

Printers panic at the sight of a blank piece of paper, especially when it is at the "finished" end of the printing machine.

And possibly people who are particularly paper-phobic.

I'll start again.

It is a small band of people who will know the panic that can be permeate from a blank sheet of paper. Especially one to which there is attached the spectre of the word deadline. A word that has been carefully designed for maximum impact. A word that has been distilled and filtered of superfluous letters. A word that means "If I don't get this done I will be hanged, drawn, quartered, sacked, my nostrils raped and my entrails impaled on a spike." More or less.

Once a writer has pondered the exact meaning of the word deadline he is doomed. He may as well lay his head on the writers block at once and wait for the axe. Instead clear your mind. Take a few deep-breathing exercises, though preferably not while on the phone, and try one of these few simple tricks.

One idea is to take the offending blank piece of paper by surprise. Approach the paper with your back towards it and whip around to face it at the last moment. Or crawl along the floor under your desk and pop up when it isn't looking. With a bit of luck you will have startled it into acquiescence. Another method is to casually appear to be doing something else then suddenly start writing. Once there is a mark on the paper it is no longer blank and will loose its power over your mind. The theory goes. It hasn't happened for me yet or this column would have been completely different.

Once your first marks are on the paper, this holds true for any written word - including shopping lists, you must become one with the paper and with yourself. That makes three. Three's a crowd so one of you can nip off down the pub, or while away a few hours with that amateur proctologist kit and let the other two get on with the work. At this point you must not give in to the temptation to overdo it and become four or five with yourself in the hope that you will be able to finish all those little jobs around the house. Never, ever attempt to become eleven with yourself and form a hockey team. It only leads to arguments and one of you will have forgotten to bring your calico knickers. And while this is no doubt amusing to the huddle of small schoolboys that gravitate to the edges of hockey fields it will all end in tears and chilblanes.

So, you've surprised your piece of paper and made your mark, OK so it was a sweat mark but it’s a start. You have become one with the paper and your pen making a threesome. Enlightenment dawns at this point as you realise why there aren't any funny articles about writers block. Inspiration strikes and you ponder the idea of handing in the still blank paper to your editor, and telling him that it is a conceptual piece containing the truth, and nothing but the truth about writer's block. "Its a masterpiece you tell yourself", rehearsing your speech to the editor. "It's high art, could even win the Turner prize with the addition of some small pieces of elephant dung."

Writing is a lonely art, as I was saying to myself the other day at the Lonely Arts Club. I spend a lot of time down there since I was fired.

Hello….?

The seven golden rules of Advertising

2006-03-06T14:32:00.000+00:00

Working in Advertising is not an easy way to make money. Anyone who says that it is, is lying. And he probably works in advertising. Advertising is where the grass is always greener. Where the sky is always blue and where the sun always shines - usually out of somebody else's arse.

If you were considering a career in advertising there are seven golden rules to remember:

1. The client is always right - no matter how big a jerk they are.
2. Make everything bigger than everything else.
3. Anything that can be changed will be changed and changed again until there is no time to make any more changes. Then they'll be changed again.
4. Studio costs are too expensive. Whatever the cost.
5. The Marketing Director's secretary is a yardstick by which to guage the target market.
6. If your competitors are doing it, it must be good.
7. Creatives bite. Account handlers suck.

Armed with the knowledge you can now venture into the corporate world of the fifteen percenters with your eyes fixed firmly on the global marketplace. Even if your only qualifications are a gold star for sunday school attendance and a third place certificate for arm-waving.

The cyclist

2006-03-06T14:28:00.000+00:00

Owners of 4X4s will know exactly how I feel about my Grand Cherokee. Its not so much a vehicle, its a passion. I spend every waking minute thinking about my beautiful vehicle and every spare penny accessorising her. The bull-bar kit I ordered came the other day. It took a couple of hours to fit but the result was magnificent. The Cherokee looked a totally different vehicle, I was as excited as I'd been the day I bought my first Jeep. I don't know why but I felt I had to go off for a drive there and then.

The roads around our neck of the woods aren't exactly of American proportions so you have to take it steady with a vehicle the size of the Cherokee. The lane between our house and the main road is the trickiest bit as the door handles almost touch the trees on either side in some parts. I was longer than usual getting down to the main road that day because I came across a cyclist. He must have been a fit young man, breezing along as he was at twenty five miles an hour.There was no way I could pass for three or four hundred yards until the lane widened enough for me to squeeze by.

I did get past eventually and made my way down to the junction with the cyclist keeping pace behind me. I waited patiently for the traffic to thin before turning right and heading off down the hill. I looked in my mirror and saw the cyclist right behind me. I glanced at the speedo - thirty miles per hour. I know enough about cycling to realize that he was 'draughting' the Cherokee. That is to say he was using my slipstream to reduce the amount of effort he needed to use to stay at that speed. I decided to accelerate smoothly to see just how fit this guy was.

Thirty-five, forty, forty-five. He was still there, right on my tail and grinning quite manically. Jeeze this guy must be fit I thought. The road started to drop a little more steeply and I'd seen enough of the Tour de France to know that a really fit cyclist can descend a hill at fifty or even sixty miles per hour. I accelerated a bit more, fifty, fifty five, sixty. He was still there, draughting so closely that I began to get nervous. What if I had to stop suddenly? This guy was going to be road-jam in seconds flat. Enough was enough. I changed down and floored the accelerator. Sixty, sixty five, seventy. I looked in the mirror - he was gone. My pulse soon returned to normal and I was able to enjoy a couple of hours touring in the summer sunshine.

I always wash my vehicles after a day out and this day was no exception. I filled a bucket with soapy water and set to. But when I worked my way around to the back of the 4x4 my heart leapt into my mouth. There, tangled in my shiny new bull-bars, were a set of drop handlebars from a bicycle.

New guide to emoticons

2006-03-06T14:26:00.000+00:00

:-) Sender is happy
:-( Sender is unhappy
:-C Sender is extremely unhappy
:-S Sender not sure wether to be happy or sad
;-/ Sender has just got sand in his eye
>:-] Sender is a Punk Rocker
<:-} Sender is a Punk Rocker but hasn't told his parents
:-[ Sender is a vampire
(-: Sender is left handed
]-: Sender is a left handed vampire
<]-:< Sender is left handed, punk rocking vampire wearing a cricket sweater
P-) Sender has patch over one eye
B-\ Sender has patch over both eyes
:-)3 Sender has large chin, or small boobs
:::-))) Sender using vibrator
:-C Batteries don't last long do they
:-D New batteries found in bedside drawer
:^) Sender has cute pointy nose
666 Sender's email address is satan@gates.of.hell
69 Sender otherwise occupied
$$$ Sender is spamming
8-| Sender has binoculars
8-) Sender with binoculars has spotted Mrs Blenkinsop
8-D Mrs Blenkinsop has started to undress
8-P Mrs Blenkinsop has finished undressing, sender starting to loosen own clothing
8-O Sender has spotted Mr Blenkinsop
8-S Mr Blenkinsop has spotted sender
*-/ Mr Blenkinsop has called round
@*>! What Mr Blenkinsop said

A sick story

2006-03-06T14:24:00.000+00:00

I got sick the other day so I took to my bed. I think it took to me too. I spent the time laying back and gazing into empty space. Actually I watched daytime television but it amounts to the same thing. I couldn't eat a thing and lost two stone. I found them later, under the bed. I was so weak that I didn't have enough energy to go to sleep. I lay awake wondering what the cat had wanted to know before curiosity killed it. I was sleepy for a while, then I went through the other six dwarfs and ended up grumpy. Finally I fell asleep, and slept so fast I reached dawn before the sun.

I went to the doctor. He said: " I haven't seen you for a long time." I said: "No, I've been well." He said I looked a bit depressed. I told him I wasn't, only my face was miserable. I told him about my sore throat, he said: "I have a sore throat too." I told him about the fever I had. He said: "I have a fever too." I told him that I ached all over. He said: "I ache all over too, I wonder what we've got." Then he told me that I was ill and gave me the pills to prove it. He told me to take them half an hour before I woke up. I asked him if I was going to die from this illness. He said "Relax, you'll probably die from whatever your father died of." Now I'm really worried. Dad was torn to pieces by a rabid rottweiller. The Doctor said that I had hypochondria, see I knew I was ill. I said: "Doc, isn't there anything you can do for me?" He said: "I can give you a whole body amputation." I said: "I'll take it."

My Doctor is an expert in holistic phrenology. That's a bit like ordinary phrenology but he feels the whole body. He told me to go behind the screens and take my clothes off. I asked him where I should put them he said: "Over here, next to mine."

On the way home I saw a funeral. A man was standing at the kerbside, cap in hand. I asked him who died. He said it was the one in the coffin. I asked if the deceased had had a good life. The man assured me that he had lived it right up until the day he died. Then I noticed that he only had on one shoe. "Lost a shoe?" I asked. "No, just found one," he said. You can observe a lot just by watching. I asked him had he lived here all his life. "Not yet," he said. The man was obviously mad. "What kind of idiot are you," I exclaimed in exasperation. "How many kinds are there?" he asked. "How stupid can you get!" I muttered under my breath. He heard me. "I'm not sure," the man replied, " I don't thinkI've peaked yet.

I thought I'd take home some sausages for my tea. I found a shop, the sign outside said: "H. Johnson, High Class Family Butcher." The shop was closed, Johnson was probably out butchering high class families. I thought, "never mind, I'll go without tea." I've been putting on a lot of weight lately. I used to be 7lb 8oz. I decided to put the money away instead. I'm planning to take my wife up the Trossachs, I believe its legal now.

When I got home there was a reminder card from the blood donor service. It read: "Please don't forget to come." And I thought they only needed blood.

Good News, Bad News

2006-03-06T14:19:00.000+00:00

The following letter from the family's solicitor is addressed to a member of the British aristocracy who has been spending much of the summer in his residence in the south of France leaving his wife in the United Kingdom to look after the ancestral home.

Dear Sir Royston,

I hope you are having a good time on your holiday. I say this with sincerity because I am afraid that I have some bad news for you, although there is good news too.

First the bad news. I am sorry to tell you that your favorite dog, Honey, is dead. The vet says that she died instantly and could have felt no pain. She was kicked in the head by your horse, Sherbert, though I'm sure that no blame can be attached to Sherbert, frightened as he was by the fire in the barn. I'm afraid that Sherbert was in the barn along with your other horses when it burnt to the ground.

The fire brigade had been called within a short time of the barn catching fire and would normally have been able to put the fire out. Had it had not been for the fact that the tender crashed into your Bentley in the lane. Your wife had taken it out for a spin with your brother. As it was both the tender and your Bently were written off.

No blame can be attached to your wife for the accident I'm sure. The Bentley was stationary at the time and your wife was in the back seat of the car. She managed to escape death only due to the fact that your brother was lying on top of her at the time of the collision. The doctors say that given time she will regain her sight but that she will never walk again. She has also lost her memory and cannot even remember you. Your brother, unfortunately, was killed.

I should explain how the barn came to be on fire in the first place. You see a spark from the house blew over and set the roof alight. The fire started in the main hall of the house where, as you know, your Mattisse and your Picasso once hung. I say `once' because they are not there now. Fortunately neither of these paintings were damaged in the conflagration as they were stolen beforehand by the burgular who started the fire.

Although all of this may seem to you very serious it is not in fact the bad news that I wrote of. Your wife and brother had been visiting your Insurance agent in prison where he is serving a three year sentence for fraud. I'm afraid that none of your insurance policies are valid.

As I said, there is some good news. The heat from the fire warmed your greenhouse and brought your tomatoes on.

Yours sincerely,

Ernest.

An open letter to Sandra Bullock

2006-03-06T14:18:00.000+00:00

Dear Sandra,

With the current trend in Hollywood for adopting children (Michelle Pfieffer, Angelina Jolie for example) I am writing to enquire whether you would consider adopting me.

While it is true that I would not normally fulfill all the usual adoption criteria (I am a forty year old Art Director in a UK Advertising Agency, have a mother and I am married with two children) I thought what the hell. I can drive, dig gardens and turn my hand to decorating and home maintenance. I've been fully house trained (I lift my feet for the hoover to pass and put my teacups in the sink). I am also good in bed - I go straight to sleep, don't wriggle and wake up when the alarm goes off.

So how about it? Say the word and I'll have the papers drawn up immediately... or I could adopt you if you'd prefer.

I understand if you have to turn this opportunity down, in which case do you have Michelle Pfeiffer's address?

Regards,

Marvin

Sex of the best

2006-03-05T18:59:00.000+00:00

My life doesn't understand me

2006-03-02T13:10:00.000+00:00

Is it just me or does everyone have days when every word you utter has been taken the wrong way? Days where no matter how much you smile and smooze, people look at you as if you've just driven over their prize winning topiary with a dump truck? Sometimes I feel that I am living one degree removed from society in a space that no one else understands. Yesterday was just like that. Even my guitar didn't understand me. I thought I was playing an Addagio in A minor, the guitar thought I was playing the theme from Camberwick Green.

Of course, "nobody understands me" is such a common complaint from teenagers and artist that the phrase is taken as a mantra to be trotted out, and ignored, at every opportunity. Usually this has an effect that lasts as long as a goldfish thought but if the artist happens to be a writer and nobody understands them then he/she is in big trouble....

Definition of Virginity

2006-03-01T21:04:00.000+00:00

From The Encyclopedia Spuria

A condition largely believed to be mythical. Viginity can be lost but is never missed. The condition is extremely rare even among fat ugly people and in Alabama USA is only ever found in girls who can run faster than their brothers.

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