Anything, Anywhere But Under Sufferance

I have a very odd relationship with clothes. Of course, they are a necessity. The very thought of me bumbling around the locality in the buff is plainly alarming. The thought of everyone else doing so fills me with a combination of peculiar interest and utter dread. Remember, for every Catherine Zeta-Jones, there are 20 Gillian McKeith's. It isn't their inherent importance that baffles me, but more the importance placed upon them by some people and not wishing to make an offensive and unfounded sweeping generalisation here but... ... I think if you judge someone on how they are dressed, then you are a complete arse of the highest order. For me, clothes are entirely functional. Fashion doesn't enter into my criteria. Now those who know me, and who are particularly cruel/astute (delete as appropriate) would no doubt venture the opinion : "Ha! But that's because you are such a wobble-monster that you can't find stuff to fit you!" And while this isn't stri...

I'm blogging this now just a few minutes after it happened as it was one of the happiest moments of my life. I have seen the light. Working away upstairs, the doorbell went and thinking it was the postman, I scuttled down the stairs, told the dogs to hush and opened the porch door to be met with shadows. Two of them, one tall, one short, one male and one female. Both well dressed. I knew who it was going to be before I regrettably opened the door to be met with two cheery faces and with a question along the lines of "Do you ever think we are going to have true happiness in the world for everyone?" I was feeling quite chipper this morning. My cold is easing off and I am hoping to go the gym later and for a swim. I'd just finished a bit of work and so I decided to see what they were on about, rather than feign some important work-related issue to facilitate my closing the door immediately on them. I discovered their names were Dale and Lesley. Dale was the chap, a tall ...

Here are all the questions from "The Good Book" all answered fulsomely in as much detail as you ever need to know, and I should know, Descartes told me. 1. What Happens when I drop an Ant? A. It looks for another life-partner. Lets face it, it isn't going to be stuck for choice and most of them are going to be better looking. 2. Why is the Pole Vaulting World Record about 6.5 metres and why can't it be broken? A. Because the laws of physics say so. Besides, it is so fantastically dull and pointless as a sport, most people would prefer to eat one of their own lungs or watch crown green bowls than sit through three hours of barely pronouncable foreigners boinging about the screen. 3. If you could go back in time to any period in history, when would it be and why? A. The moment of creation, so I could come back later and say "See? I told you so." 4. Are you Cool? A. No, I've a jumper on and the central heating is up a little too high. 5. If there was an omn...

I've been spitting mad of late. Not through any great misfortune that has happened, but because of a simple book. Like many people, my time for reading is always bed time. It always has been ever since I can remember. I am too busy and focused on other things during the day to read, even on holiday, but of a night I can happily while away a sleepless hour devouring a book. Unfortunately, one of the books I am reading at the moment, has caused me to start having an involuntary form of literary Tourettes. I read a chapter and then at the end of it, intone "cock-dribble" or "arse-guffage" before starting the next a tad angrier than before. The book that is causing me so much angst is a book called "Do you think you're clever" by someone called John Farndon. Initially, I assumed he was the singer who had a hit with "You're the Voice" and in many ways, had he written the book, it may have been a tad easier to digest. Unfortunately for John...

What do you think of Apple? Do you love your iPod, iPad, iPhone? Are you a Mac convert? Are you one of the increasing number of single (they are always single, usually wearing glasses and an inane grin) masturbatory technosouls, who wets themselves at the opening of a new Apple shop and queues overnight to get your hands on their latest, overprice technological masterstroke? I have to admit, where Apple score highly is in design. All the Apple products look rather polished and rather attractive. Compared to a Mac, most PC's resemble and 1970s Volvo estate. The iPhone design has been flagrantly copied by other companies (though at least the antenna works on theirs) and the iPod is a thing of beauty. Even I've got one of those, although this necessitated a trip to the Apple store the other week. Now to get this, I had to phone Apple customer support, where I waited for a Dutch lady to tediously, yet cheerfully, go through all the things I had done on the website previously before...

My wife has made a gastronomic error of calamitous proportions. It all started innocently enough a couple of weeks ago. Feeling a little below par, Katharine indulged herself in a pot of Nutella Chocolate Spread to spread thickly over a few pieces of toast. It was comfort food of the highest order and considering we've been living off badger food for the past six-months, she felt that she could allow herself this minor frivolity. Now, until such time as she bought this item, I had no great love for chocolate spread. In actual fact, the very notion confused me. Chocolate on toast? Why? Why not just ditch the toast and have chocolate? Chocolate and bread do not go. In the same way as pineapple on Pizza doesn't go (I've checked with the Pizza bosses, and it doesn't - that's the final word) or having Ice Cream in your Tortilla just looks silly and makes your chicken wish it had its feathers back. I watched in confused bewilderment as she tucked heartily into the toast. ...

I am beginning to dread car journeys with my children. In the good old days, the most we had to concern ourselves with was perhaps a nappy that needed changing, perhaps the occasional redecoration of the car interior via the medium of the contents of Jess's stomach, the usual bouts of arguing and fighting or the quiet request to stop for a wee because they are absolutely bursting, approximately twenty minutes after you have left the last service station. Fortunately, the CD player was a bastion of adult respectability. Well, I say that, my wife does have rather 'middle of the road' taste in Music. Billy Joel, Bucks Fizz, Brotherhood of Man and recently, Michael Buble. Pretty much anyone who begins with 'B' really, though even she drew the line at Bros. However with me driving and staking my claim to manhood, my choice of CD's were often the ones littering the car, upsetting my wife and keeping us entertained on our journeys. Not any more. After spending the vast...