Stense's chameleon joke

Today marks the 25th anniversary of my friendship with Stense. To celebrate, here's a joke she emailed me last week:

Did you hear about the chameleon who couldn't change colour? He had a reptile dysfunction.

I think my fondness for crap jokes has finally begun to rub off.

Incidentally, it's a little-known fact that Stense has a passion for amphibians and reptiles. Indeed, the study of amphibians and reptiles is her pet -ology.

(Do you see what I did, there?)

It was 50 years ago today…

Fifty years ago today—Friday, 22nd November, 1963—a day of great events: C.S. Lewis, collapsed in his bedroom and died; Aldous Huxley, died in bed having, at his request, been administered LSD by his wife; John F. Kennedy, shot through the head by person or persons unknown Lee Harvey Oswald.

Can you remember where you were when you heard that JFK had been shot? They say you never forget. I almost certainly heard about it some time in the mid-to-late 1970s, but I'm buggered if I can remember where I was. So, I guess that disproves that crap theory.

Jen's mum, Pat, has the perfect alibi for the (first) Kennedy assassination: she was in a hospital in Halifax, in the West Riding of Yorkshire, giving birth to our lass.

Jen at the Angel of the North

Jen (right, slightly over the hill).

Thanks, Pat. Job well done!

Now, if you don't mind, Jen and I are off to Filey to celebrate. Rock and roll!


‘Oh yeah!’

Happy Yorkshire Day, everyone!

By a spooky (well, 1-in-365) coincidence, today is also officially the 23rd anniversary of my friendship with Stense. To celebrate, I've just looked up what song was number one in the charts 23 years ago today—our song, so to speak. Turns out it's something of a classic:

Happy anniversary, mate!

(You'll be humming that shite all day, mark my words.)

Significant anniversaries

Five years ago today, Jen moved into our new (well, rather old, actually) home in the Pennines. I moved in a few days later.

Twenty years ago today, I started my first job after university. It was in a torpedo factory (no, really). The following weekend, my uncle asked me how I was enjoying work. I said it was a bit boring. "Well, get used to it," he said, "you've got another 40 years to go!"

Half way there!

How to become an elected dictator

61 years ago today, Hamburg radio announced that Adolf Hitler was dead. He'd topped himself the day before. Couldn't have happened to a more deserving chap. Do you know, he even poisoned his dog beforehand, the nasty, little turd!

Hitler went to a lot of trouble to become his nation's leader. A dodgy election campaign was followed by a plebiscite conferring draconian new powers on the man with the stupid moustache. So Hitler always had the comfort of being able to claim that he was a democractically elected Führer. Dictators have a thing about being democratically elected.

But I think I've spotted a really easy way to get myself elected dictator of Britain, without any bloodshed or anything (and then it'll be furry-pillowcase time for all those sodding cats):

BBC: Britain 'needs compulsory voting'

Britons should be forced to vote in elections, a think-tank has said. The Institute for Public Policy Research's report suggests those who do not vote should be fined to combat low turnout at the polls…

Under the institute's plan, electors would be offered a "none of the above" choice or could simply spoil their papers.

If anyone is ever crazy enough to introduce compulsory voting, all I will need to do is change my name to None of the Above, put myself up for election in every constituency, and I will cruise to victory almost totally unopposed.

The British public takes its apathy very seriously.

It's what grandad fought the Nazis for.