Monday 31 August 2009
Friday 28 August 2009
Mythical knowhow 13:57
Nun 10:49
I look in the rear view mirror. There's a nun in the car behind me.
She's eating.
I spend the next 10 minutes in a traffic jam trying to see what she is devouring. Every time I look, she's chewing, glaring directly at my reflected eyes and I miss the food being passed into her wrinkled mouth.
It's difficult to stare directly into the eyes of a nun, especially one that's eating. My eyes instinctively flick away from hers and when I dare to return my gaze, the answer to my query has vanished again into the nun's gullet.
Eventually the traffic moves forward but suddenly comes to a halt, causing the nun to slam on her brakes and, caught off guard, the nun gives away the mystery by spitting it onto the dash board whilst coughing crumbs.
Its a Viennese whirl.
I win, Nun.
She's eating.
I spend the next 10 minutes in a traffic jam trying to see what she is devouring. Every time I look, she's chewing, glaring directly at my reflected eyes and I miss the food being passed into her wrinkled mouth.
It's difficult to stare directly into the eyes of a nun, especially one that's eating. My eyes instinctively flick away from hers and when I dare to return my gaze, the answer to my query has vanished again into the nun's gullet.
Eventually the traffic moves forward but suddenly comes to a halt, causing the nun to slam on her brakes and, caught off guard, the nun gives away the mystery by spitting it onto the dash board whilst coughing crumbs.
Its a Viennese whirl.
I win, Nun.
Wednesday 26 August 2009
Dog in the house 12:08
So last night I was just outside our house after unceremoniously dumping our old sofa in the back garden when a small black dog wandered up our driveway and just stood looking at me.
With no apparent owner of said dog in sight, I chanced being bitten and investigated the tag on the collar of previously mentioned dog. As the address was one somewhere just round the corner from our house, I decided the best course of action would be to return 'Blatch' (what kind of name for a dog is that?) to his owner.
Knocking on our front door to inform Mrs D. of my intended action pertaining to the canine, I held on to the collar of our new friend, lest he wander into the road and be mangled.
Mrs D. appeared, the dog wagged his tail and she informed me that she had seen him running solo up the road some days previous as I danced Flatley style in front of our open gate preventing his entry into our back garden.
Blatch, being an intelligent sort, immediately spotted that I had little experience dealing with his kind - dismissing me and my gate protecting folly - choosing instead the easy route past my beloved. He gave her a cursory glance that they both seemed to understand and headed straight through my house and into the back garden.
Now this is probably just me, but I feel incredibly uncomfortable with a strange dog in my back garden - something that I discovered only that day. Mrs Dion seemed overly joyed with the turn of events however and both her and 'good old Blatch' were wandering round the garden sniffing and deciding what he should urinate on next.
I managed to disguise my discomfort rather well I feel, only occasionally skipping about and waiving my hand in the manner of an excited Michael Barrymore on an early episode of 'Strike it lucky' in a vain attempt to encourage our visitor to depart the way he had come.
After an arbitrary amount of time both Mrs D. and the local littlest hobo decided that it was time for him to be on his merry way by some psychic link that I was not party to. Whenceupon, she lifted him up, took him to the front door and let him loose.
He did not - as I suspected - immediately run back to our back garden for more urinating fun, but instead opted for a quick glance at us, a wander over our front lawn and a stand on our wall before deciding that today would not be the day that he settled down and he would indeed keep moving on.
This has led me to believe that I understand even less about our canine pals than I first thought and that the missus may actually have psionic powers. All I can hope for is that the exchange between the smell of feline urine for canine urine in my garden will result in less stand-offs between me and the local moggy population resulting in less embarrassment on my part.
With no apparent owner of said dog in sight, I chanced being bitten and investigated the tag on the collar of previously mentioned dog. As the address was one somewhere just round the corner from our house, I decided the best course of action would be to return 'Blatch' (what kind of name for a dog is that?) to his owner.
Knocking on our front door to inform Mrs D. of my intended action pertaining to the canine, I held on to the collar of our new friend, lest he wander into the road and be mangled.
Mrs D. appeared, the dog wagged his tail and she informed me that she had seen him running solo up the road some days previous as I danced Flatley style in front of our open gate preventing his entry into our back garden.
Blatch, being an intelligent sort, immediately spotted that I had little experience dealing with his kind - dismissing me and my gate protecting folly - choosing instead the easy route past my beloved. He gave her a cursory glance that they both seemed to understand and headed straight through my house and into the back garden.
Now this is probably just me, but I feel incredibly uncomfortable with a strange dog in my back garden - something that I discovered only that day. Mrs Dion seemed overly joyed with the turn of events however and both her and 'good old Blatch' were wandering round the garden sniffing and deciding what he should urinate on next.
I managed to disguise my discomfort rather well I feel, only occasionally skipping about and waiving my hand in the manner of an excited Michael Barrymore on an early episode of 'Strike it lucky' in a vain attempt to encourage our visitor to depart the way he had come.
After an arbitrary amount of time both Mrs D. and the local littlest hobo decided that it was time for him to be on his merry way by some psychic link that I was not party to. Whenceupon, she lifted him up, took him to the front door and let him loose.
He did not - as I suspected - immediately run back to our back garden for more urinating fun, but instead opted for a quick glance at us, a wander over our front lawn and a stand on our wall before deciding that today would not be the day that he settled down and he would indeed keep moving on.
This has led me to believe that I understand even less about our canine pals than I first thought and that the missus may actually have psionic powers. All I can hope for is that the exchange between the smell of feline urine for canine urine in my garden will result in less stand-offs between me and the local moggy population resulting in less embarrassment on my part.
Things that are wrong with the day 10:59
1. My banana got burst in my bag on the way to work.
2. Its TOO hot in the office. It's not just me is it? I mean other people must sit in their office and think, "maaaan... its like TOO hot in here".
3. The title of this blog is too big, apparently
2. Its TOO hot in the office. It's not just me is it? I mean other people must sit in their office and think, "maaaan... its like TOO hot in here".
3. The title of this blog is too big, apparently
Tuesday 25 August 2009
Discovery of the Day 16:13
Smashing up old sofas is very stress relieving.
I suggest you go and buy a new sofa and smash up your old one.
Go, do it now.
I suggest you go and buy a new sofa and smash up your old one.
Go, do it now.
Monday 24 August 2009
Discovery of the Day 13:33
One can not breathe Cous Cous.
Experimenting on this matter may cause alarm in collegues who have not been informed upon the nature of the experiment.
Experimenting on this matter may cause alarm in collegues who have not been informed upon the nature of the experiment.
Thursday 20 August 2009
Mike check, one, two... 11:02
A 2008 study reported that ripe bananas exhibit a blue fluorescence when exposed to ultraviolet light. This property is attributed to the degradation of chlorophyll giving rise to the accumulation of a fluorescent product in the skin of the fruit.
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