Things could indeed only get better

…which is why it's pretty damn depressing that I can only bring myself to award the former Prime Minister a very generous 4 out of Number 10.

What will the headlines be tomorrow, I wonder? Liar Retires? Browning Street?

I'm going to give the new bloke the benefit of the considerable doubt for the time being. But, Buddha Almighty, can you believe we actually managed to land ourselves a PM with even less charisma than John Major? I mean, this is a guy who uses words like steadfast, resolute and aspirations in his first speech as our leader. Where the hell does he think he is? In some Dickensian novel?

Mind you, after the last chap, boring might be just what we need at the moment.

At the Cheese Shop, part 3

Me: … And I'd like some cheddar, please.
Girl: What type of cheddar would you like?
Me: Have you got any of that stuff with the orange skin?
Girl: We've got some with red skin: Godminster.
Me: Sorry, that's right, red skin… For some bizarre reason, I was thinking of Dale Winton.
[FX: Loud WOOOOOSH! noise, as joke passes right over girl's head.]

Actually, come to think of it, Dale Winton would be quite a good name for a cheese.

See also:

Me and my big mouth

It's such a crying shame that I've gone on record about IQ tests' being a load of old bollocks:

New Scientist: Firstborn children are the cleverest

Firstborn children score significantly higher in IQ tests than their younger siblings, according to a large study of 250,000 military draftees in Norway.

… Oh, what the hell, I'm emailing a link to my kid sister anyway!

Published
Filed under: Nonsense Tags:

Bernard Manning

Jen and me are gutted: we really loved his turkey drummers*.

* OK, I nicked that one: the original was supposedly a tribute from Posh and Becks to Sir Stanley Matthews. Stuff came out of my nose.

Father's Day Secrets

An email to the ever excellent PostSecret weblog made stuff come out my nose today:

My dad told me the worst swear word you could possibly say was "Bostonian". It meant "someone who has no private parts." My brother and I used the word until we were teenagers and my father giggled every time we said it, right before he sent us to our rooms.

Dads should lie to their kids more often.

Physics Saves the Day!

Jen and I have just returned from a weekend at Ann and Bill's. And jolly nice it was too, thank you for asking.

This morning, Ann asked for my help: a wine glass had become stuck to a cupboard shelf—could I sort it out? No, I couldn't: the base of the glass really was stuck very solidly to the shelf. I even tried working the point of a knife under the glass, but it just wouldn't budge.

I asked Ann if the glass had been wet when she put it on the shelf. No it hadn't; it had been bone dry; she had taken it out of the dishwasher only last night. I asked her if the glass had still been warm from the dishwasher. Yes it had. A-ha!

I immediately deduced that, as the glass had been placed on the shelf, warm air had been trapped in the little hollow underneath. As the glass had cooled, so had the small pocket of air trapped underneath, causing the air pressure to drop slightly, thereby creating a partial vaccum that stuck the glass to the shelf like an inflexible suction cup.

So I ran the kitchen tap until it was good and hot, soaked a dish cloth in hot water, placed it over the base of the glass, and waited for the air underneath to warm up again. The glass then lifted as easy as pie.

Good to see three years of physics at university weren't entirely wasted. I'm sure there must be some money to be made on party bets involving wine glasses stuck to tables or something like that.

Straw

Carolyn's children's guinea pig, Straw, went the way of his illustrious predecessors last Tuesday. They buried him next to his brothers under the cat's whisker plant—which was in pretty poor taste, if you ask me.

Straw's demise moved Carolyn's elder daughter, Hazel, to verse. I won't quote the two poems she wrote here, as they were rather personal and intense. I couldn't believe they were written by such a young girl.

Reflecting on it the next day, I thought that maybe I should try to write my own poetic tribute to Straw. So I did. I texted the result to Carolyn:

A grave they had to dig
For their lamented guinea pig.
Who on Earth knows when
They will meet his like again?

No reply. I decided Carolyn couldn't have been too impressed, so I sent her another:

The pathos was potent
As they buried their rodent.

Dig that alliteration. And the assonance of potent and rodent is so totally heavy. I've still got what it takes!

Still no reply, so I tried another:

Poor Straw is no more:
He's as stiff as the kitchen door.
Why, oh, why did he have to die,
And go to the Great Treadmill in the Sky?

After which, I gave up, having decided that Carolyn was ignoring me, and that five poems were quite enough for one stupid guinea pig.

The following evening, I noticed that Carolyn was online, so we had the following chat:

R: Hello.
C: Hello hello
R: Did you get my poems yesterday? I was quite pleased with them!
C: Yes we did. Very good but Hazel wants you to know that poems don't have to rhyme!
R: YOU NEVER READ THEM TO HER!
How old is Hazel, by the way?
C: 10
R: Good grief!
… And she's lecturing me on poetry already!
By the way, I'm not seeing Fitz after all on Tuesday evening, so I'm available for cups of tea, if you're at all interested.
C: well I've promised to go dancing as I missed it this week because of the guinea pig.
R: You've no idea how special that makes me feel… You'll miss dancing for a guinea pig, but not for me!

I guess that put me in my place.

See also: Some of my other Songs & Poems

Mad about Harry

Guardian: Teaching assistant quit in protest at Harry Potter

A Pentecostal teaching assistant who quit her job at a foundation primary school after she was disciplined for refusing to hear a child read a Harry Potter book is seeking compensation for religious discrimination. She claimed that the book glorified witchcraft.

Presumably, this woman would fully support anyone who refused to teach from the New Testament, because it glorifies Christianity.

People have to be vetted before they are allowed to work with children, but, inevitably, the odd nutter slips through the net. Let's hope this case is laughed out of court.

Thought Police

BBC: Drivers 'need psychometric tests'

Psychological assessments should become part of the UK driving test, a road safety expert has urged.

… He said psychometric tests could help to identify people with the wrong attitude to the road.

The only thing psychometric tests can identify is how people respond to the psychometric test in question. Any link between that and what is actually going on in people's minds is just wishful thinking mixed with mumbo-jumbo.

Anyone interested in the subject of psychological testing should read this book.

See also: