How Times Change...

EEEEK!!!!

I remember when I was at University, there was a secret list of people, who, no matter how cool and talented they were, you would NEVER entertain the idea of sharing a lift with them, let alone a bed.


Of course, in public you would bang on about how awesome they were, while hoping you never found them outside your window at night. For me, that person was Trent Reznor. He, frankly, scared the bejeebus out of me.

Ooooh!

Much like a great deal of university and the people that surrounded me, I now see the error of my ways, and HOW. Nine inch whatever, he's a honey.


I am confused.

The Gun Show

I have a best friend who is inordinately fond of his own biceps. He likes to show them off by flexing in a long sleeved shirt. He enjoys twitching them in time to music. I am quite fond of parts of myself, but making them dance about has never been in my repertoire.

Biceps are a very male obsession, however obsession can so easily turn into mania. Witness, please, this gentleman who has made it into the Guinness Book of Records for an achievement a blind person would be able to get the hang of.

Words fail me. How in God's name could he ever find a shirt that fits? And why on earth has he done nothing below the elbow? In fact, where are his elbows? Was it a terrible accident with a bicycle pump? Did he fall hands first under a steam roller? He would make a very good, but slightly limited "forearm stuffer up cows bum" man (vet possibly?)

Between this chap and that weirdo cyclist with the thighs (see 2nd August), are we seeing the rise of a new mutant race?  I suppose after years of ladies inflating various bits to scary extents it was only a matter of time before the gents got in on the act. I am not going looking for any other bits I can assure you; the internet can be a very frightening place indeed.

What was I saying before I was so rudely interrupted?

Ah, yes - fridge bingo.

Droool.

Well, after a week in sunny Portugal I am craving greens - cabbage, watercress, kale, lettuce, spinach - yum yum yum.

Bless the Portuguese; they love their sardinas and their frango, but no lovers of the vegetable are they. Better than Egypt  -question: "What is the vegetarian option?", answer "Chicken"....hmmmm.

A week of lounging around like a beached whale, munching on fish and piri piri is all very well, but I have come to the conclusion that I need some form of routine in my life, even if it is rotten old work. More than a week and I can feel my brain going spongy. Maybe it's the heat; I tried to read Dickens and could not be doing with it, and unlike some I cannot bring myself to read magazines about the latest Kardashian public freak fest. Does that make me a weirdo in comparison to the rest of the world? If so, thank God.

On a Lighter Note...

After my surprisingly sombre offering yesterday I feel some levity is needed.

Allow me to guide you through the wonderful world of

FRIDGE LOTTO!!!!

You don't need a game card to play - oh dear me, no. All you need is an upcoming holiday and a sense of adventure. Picture the scene...a kitchen, a calender counting down the days before you jet off to hotter climes, and fridge, getting dangerously low in the following ingredients...

Mouldy tart (snigger)

Cheese
Milk
Salad
Passata
Chicken
Potatoes
Butter

Or in fact, any items that you would normally use to create delicious and nutritious meals for you and your loving partner. Instead, the white cupboard of disappointment sports this...

Feta cheese
Smoothies (left over from the last time anyone under the age of 10 visited)
A box of sad, slightly sweaty mushrooms
The remnants of what was a lovely bunch of spring onions (now looks like a handful of weeds)
Suspicious leftovers in boxes
Some pate that Husband insists is fine, but which you can plainly see is wearing a wig

Prepare yourself for the trial of making at least four dinners with this rag-tag bundle of misfits. Thank heaven for take aways.

In the Beginning

There was light, and all of humankind saw the light fall on the face of the earth from space for the first time - our small blue jewel of a planet  revolving in the ink of space. Humanity looked at themselves through the eyes and cameras of three men, hurtling through the vacuum, alone but carrying every nation with them. The awesome responsibility, and the humbling realisation of the true meaning of SPACE - the gaps between things, the distance between people, the nothingness that  fills up all of this that we see - it has never been better demonstrated and it could never have been entrusted to a more extraordinary group of people.

I doubt that the world will ever be the same in my lifetime and I am so envious of everyone who saw the events all those years ago. The world; since the first time the earth was seen as a whole, has expanded and grown and the Space between us all has increased. In spite of all the technology that brings us together, we have never been more far apart.

But, for a few moment in 1969, the world looked up at the moon, as generations have before, and instead of dreaming of what the moon might hold, the world looked up and for the first time some one looked back.

Rest in peace Neil Armstrong - the world owes you a debt that we may never be able to repay.

Death by a Thousand Cuts

Gaaah! Hairdresser doubt strikes again. I have an appointment to be refrizzed at Toni and Guy tomorrow and, as usual, I am in a quandary - what to do, what to do?

Mmmm, what a lovely do, what hairdresher do you frequent?

My hair is very thick and goes sort of kinky in hot, humid weather...so at the moment I look like a right mess. I would love short hair, but once it's off, traditionally you can't reattach it. Do I take a plunge, or do I bock bock bock out of it (chicken noise!)

The thought of toddling off to Portugal in 10 days, where the weather is currently a scorchio 35 degrees with what is essentially a Russian fur hat on my bonce is a horrible thought. That and the fact that the snow on the mountain is beginning to show through the terrible dye job I recently attempted. I have visions of getting a hair cut, hating it, getting a new colour put in and going green on holiday due to sun and chlorine.

I sometimes wish I was bald. But not often.

As Sir Robert of Smith might say...

HOT HOT HOT!

The idea came before
the picture....

Blighty basks in temperatures hotter than the Med, which sounds considerably better that "slightly hotter than the inside of an hour old dog poo". Well, this is all very well, but I am not designed for this weather. I'm too big, my hair is too thick; I feel like a bear forced to live in an airing cupboard. Cruelty.

I have noticed through the course of writing this and flinging it out into the ether for anyone's entertainment,https://encrypted-tbn1.google.com/images? that I could not be more British. I am obsessed with the following:-

• The weather
• Poo
• Sport

But not necessarily in that order. And certainly not mixed up into some nightmarish version of It's A Knockout  where contestants have to play badminton in a storm of pee while whacking shuttlecocks made of shite.

I fear for myself....maybe Mr Handy is right when he gently shakes his head and says "I worry about you mate".