🦆
Text message from Carolyn:
At Jodrell Bank, Chloe asked the astronomer why the sun was in the middle and the other planets all went round it!
A pretty awesome question, considering Chloe is only five. Actually, it's a pretty awesome question whatever her age. Next thing you know, she'll be wondering what it would be like to ride on a beam of light.
(I did, of course, point out for Carolyn's benefit that the sun isn't, in fact, a planet; it's a newspaper, allegedly.)
Some bloke just chose Robert FitzRoy as his specialist subject on Mastermind. I got ten answers right, which would have left me in joint-second place going into the general knowledge round. I'm kicking myself for not getting 12.
OK, OK, so I need to get out more!
I'm sorry, it's only just occurred to me: have you ever seen Graham Norton and Jason Donovan in the same room?
We have a right to know.
Hey, has Clarkson been nicking my material?
Jen: Robbie Williams has done all right for himself, hasn't he?
Me: Yes, he's come a long way since Mork and Mindy.
Actually, Mork and Mindy was years ahead of its time: it is credited with making the first ever reference to nanu-technology.
I'll get my coat.
I did my accounts the other day, but I couldn't make them balance. I had £10.21 more than expected in the bank. It turned out I had received an unexpected electronic transfer credit from Amazon UK: my first referral payment for books and stuff I have mentioned on this website. Not bad, I suppose, considering I'm not exactly using hard-sell tactics. As promised, a cheque for £10.21 is now making its way to Amnesty International.
When I delved a bit deeper, I discovered that £9's worth of the £10.21 was due to multiple sales of one book: Fossils, Finches and Fuegians by Richard Keynes. This was particularly pleasing because, not only is it an excellent book, but I received my copy free from the publishers. This website malarkey does occasionally have certain perks, you know.
But the really strange discovery, when I looked into my referrals history, was that I had earned a (very small) referral fee for a book I have never read nor mentioned on this site: Drums of Autumn by Diana Gabaldon, whose synopsis on Amazon goes as follows:
It began in Scotland, at an ancient stone circle. Claire Randall was swept through time into the arms of James Fraser whose love for her became legend—a tale of tragic passion that ended with her return to the present to bear his child. Two decades later, Claire travelled back again to reunite with Jamie, this time in frontier America. But Claire had left someone behind in her own time—their daughter Brianna. Now Brianna has made a disturbing discovery that sends her to the stone circle and a terrifying leap into the unknown. In search of her mother and the father she has never met, she risks her own future to try to change history—and to save their lives. But as Brianna plunges into an uncharted wilderness, a heartbreaking encounter may strand her forever in the past… or root her in the place she should be, where her heart and soul belong…
OK, you chaps, hands up who's been reading historical romances.
See also: Fanny Cradock
Liverpool Echo: Gormley: I want statues to stay
Artist Antony Gormley has given the campaign to keep his iron men statues on Crosby beach a massive boost—by fully supporting the plans.
Mr Gormley told the Daily Post he thought making the beach the permanent home for the Another Place work was the "best future" for it.
It would be great if the statues could stay in Crosby: they have transformed an otherwise uninspiring beach into a truly wonderful experience (and a major tourist attraction).
See also: My photos of the statues
Postscript (09-Mar-2007): The statues are staying.
BBC: Mayor mulls bicycle number plates
Number plates for bicycles are being considered by the mayor [of London] in a bid to improve cycling standards. Ken Livingstone believes bicycles and their owners should be registered so that law-breakers can be caught…
Peter King, chief executive of British Cycling, said only a "tiny minority of cyclists" were at fault of flouting road regulations.
Yeah, right.
I can't see how bike number plates could me made to work without compulsory insurance and licences for cyclists too, but that's probably a damn good idea.
I dare say Irish Mick would disagree. Last week, I learnt that he is no longer Irish Mick, in that he is now living in Manchester. He's got a new job with Sustrans, the sustainable transport (i.e. bike) charity as Co-ordinator of Rangers in the North of England—which is so Tolkienesque, I think I'm going to start calling him Strider.
Times: In the doghouse, the pensioner told to remove 'offensive' sign
For 32 years it prompted little more than a wry smile. But now a pensioner who has a sign on her garden gate warning Jehovah's Witnesses that their presence could result in them being eaten by dogs has been ordered to take it down.
Hampshire police received a complaint that the notice outside Jean Grove's cottage, which reads "Our dogs are fed on Jehovah's Witnesses", was "distressing, offensive and inappropriate".
Apparently, it's not seen as offensive and inappropriate to turn up uninvited at someone's door and preach total bollocks at them. The last time it happened to us, Jen dealt with the Witnesses magnificently: she strung them along for several minutes, until they started talking about how lovely God had made the world, with all the animals and flowers and stuff:
"Why do you lot always go on about animals?" asked Jen. "What about all the people living in poverty in Africa? Why doesn't God help them? Have they done something wrong?"
The Jehovah's Witnesses said something along the lines of the Lord moves in mysterious ways, but added, yes, basically, the Africans must have done something wrong.
"The poor are always with us," said Jen.
"Jesus said that!" chirped one of the Witnesses.
"I know he did, and he was bloody wrong!" said Jen, closing the door.
We never saw them again.
I walked past one of the cleaning ladies in the corridor at work today. "Good afternoon, John," she said, cheerily.
"Good afternoon," I replied, just as cheerily. I have long since given up trying to explain to her that my name is Richard.
"Hey, Mike, the cleaning lady just called me John again," I said to a colleague, once the cleaning lady was out of earshot.
"She calls me Brian," said Mike.