A somewhat misreported (to make me look even more awesome) conversation with Jen in the car this morning:
R: I’ve just thought of a new game. It’s called the Pop-star Biscuit Game. We take it in turns to name pop-stars who sound like biscuits. For example, Lionel Rich Tea. Your turn…
J: …Limp Bizkit.
R: No, that’s cheating. You can’t have ‘biscuit’ as part of the name. My turn… Jammy Dodger Miller.
R: Godley and Custard Cream.
R: Chocolate Bourbono.
R: Oreo Speedwagon.
R: I was Googling brands of biscuits before we came out. Can you tell?
J: KitKat Stevens.
R: KitKats are wafers, not biscuits.
R: Run Garibaldi MC.
R: I win!
The secret to winning the Pop-star Biscuit Game is planning. Planning and misreporting.
Over to you…
From a conversation with Jen this morning:
R: Did you know the correct English plural for the word dwarf is dwarfs with an F?
J: Not …V-E-S, then?
R: No—although, when he was writing The Lord of the Rings, Tolkien, as an expert in linguistics, decided the word would be far more common in Middle Earth, so would have been corrupted through everyday usage. So he made a point of spelling the plural …V-E-S.
J: I dare say, after working that out, writing the rest of the book will have been a cinch.
I woke up this morning to find one of Carolyn's random text-message queries awaiting me:
C: What is the plural of Hippopotamus?
C: With a w?
R: It was a joke… Plural: HippopoTWOmuses!
C: That's a very early in the morning joke!
Apologies for the dearth of updates recently, but I have been spending what seems like the last 14 years redecorating our guest bedroom.
I'll spare you the details, but one of the (many, many) reasons this job has taken so long is that we rather stupidly chose to paint the walls a totally different colour from the ceiling, skirting-boards, window-frame, and doors. Which means there have been an awful lot of straight lines that needed painting by hand, for which I have had to resort to a minuscule ½-inch, flat-ended Rowney art-brush:
Yesterday, I was perched on top of a ladder, painstakingly edging the window-frame when the doorbell rang. It was Derek the plumber, who had come to re-plumb our downstairs loo.
“Doing a spot of painting, Richard?”
“I'm re-decorating the guest room. It's taken bloody months.”
“I'm not bloody surprised, with that brush!”