One wrong turn deserves another

We went walking in the peak district the other day. It was great. I love Kinder Scout, it is wild-looking and there is always the danger you will fall in a peat bog.

RJ's brother (who we will call Phillip for anonymity) came along, which was excellent as he is doing the Duke of Edinburgh thing and this means you can force him to carry the bag for the whole way without it being a form of child abuse (it counts as "practice", see).

We ended up taking a couple of wrong turns, and for one memorable segment we had to climb down a waterfall, but all three of us ended the weekend alive, which was an excellent result all round.

On Sunday I felt under the weather. I had two theories:

Theory 1
The bit with the waterfall was quite dangerous. There are definitely alternate realities where I slipped and died. Maybe it was more dangerous than I thought...

So, maybe I died in so many alternate realities that I was somehow weakened in this one, in a way that manages not to rip off the dreadful Jet Li film, The One, because it is the opposite you see. So I can't be sued (in the unlikely event of Jet Li actually reading this blog. PS Hi Jet!)

That is a really bad film.

Theory 2
I have hayfever and I was sleeping in a field.

Luckily the weakened-in-alternate-realities fever abated when I returned to a town, lending support to Theory 2 for those with no imaginations.

So, how've you been?

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times

Blogging; less popular these days than it once was, I feel. (I don't just mean with me, and yes I know I am lazy, Molly, before you start!)

Blogs have their uses though. There was something on the telly-box the other day with Billie Piper in, a series, possibly about a lady of easy virtue, I couldn't tell. I nearly watched it, nearly, as I knew I would write something about it. But then I didn't. Sorry. The point I am (not) making is it was based on someone's blog, you see.

Then I was in Waterstones the other day and I noticed that Petite Anglaise has been turned into a novel of sorts, which I found very exciting. I haven't bought it yet, but probably will, once I have paid my council tax and gas bill, etc, and convinced RJ to stop breaking bits of the car.

What surprised me, on this fine, spring, Waterstones day, was that there wasn't a single book in this alleged book shop written by me. I found myself wondering why I haven't yet made my fortune by reinventing the modern novel.

So I went home and brainstormed a few ideas:

1. Wizard school
2. Jesus had children and hid them under the Louvre
3. Bad ring means short people have to go hiking for ever

but decided I was a bit derivative...

So anyway, that is my new project. To revoutionise the 21st Century European novel. Ideas gratefully received.

Now I have to think of a good start...

"It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that a man in possession of an unfulfilling job must be in want of a best-seller..."

I'll work on it.

Recycling day

Tuesday is recycling day round our neck of the woods.

Yes, yes, today is Thursday. I am a slow person! Anyway, I was still trying to work out the Doctor Who anagram.

The good thing about recycling day is that everyone leaves their recyclables outside their houses and it gives you a good chance to be nosy and go through your neighbours' rubbish, which is secretly what we all want to do even if I'm the only one brave enough to say it.

This of course means you can check the relative degrees of alcoholism of the people who live closest to you.

For example, the people at number 48 had about four crates of Stella Artois waiting to be melted down and made into a trendy vase... I hope they know that the rest of the street is secretly judging them.

So, what have you (and your neighbours) been up to?

Irritating conversation, and I don't even watch the programme.

Mark: "Torchwood is an anagram of Doctor Who."
Me: "No it isn't."
Mark: [pauses]
Me: "Argghh!"

To most people this won't make any sense; the remaining few probably knew it already.

My new friends, part two

Billy
Benno
Malm

It's a conspiracy I tell you. I haven't decided how exactly yet. Maybe I will leave it to that master of conspiracies, Stephen, to work out the finer details.

I will call it The Great Scandinavian Conspiracy. Yes, with capitals.

What they do (the Scandinavians) is enslave you as a child by getting you addicted to Lego. I don't know if this is just boys, but I suspect not from my recent researches (with Rebecca Juliet).

Then they unleash Ikea on you as a young adult (when you can't afford to buy proper furniture). Ikea is exactly the same as Lego, but bigger, and more likely to make you hit your thumb with a hammer. This in turn is more likely to make you accidentally say "fuck" in front of your mother.

Then you eventually have children, and you buy Lego for them, and having kids means you can probably only afford Ikea then too, and the whole sickening cycle goes on and on forever.

What I can't quite work out is why the Evil Scandinavians do this. But when Denmark and Sweden rival China and India in the future as the dominant world economies, you will mark these words. Mark them, I tell you!

[manic laughter to fade]

My new friends, part one

I have spent a profitable weekend getting to know my three new friends: Billy, Benno and... er, Malm.

Billy likes books like me. That is nice. Benno is more into rock and ro-o-oll. Yeah baby. Malm, well he is more into balancing books on his head and, er... wearing my glasses at night.

Anyway, my fingers hurt; I kept hitting them with a hammer.

Bye now.

"You're through to 333, garrrrrh me hearties!"

Idiots.

I spend a large proportion of my time (at least 8% at last reckoning) on either a calculator or a phone or on the numerical keypad at the right of the keyboard.

So, WHY, WHY, WHY is a calculator/keyboard organised like this:

789
456
123

but a phone like this:

123
456
789

Eh, eh, eh??!!

I am buying an old fashioned round phone as a protest.

Anyway, to get to the point, I tried to ring the police about my recurring infestation of pirates, but got through to 333. Which you would assume was some kind of part-time Satanist club, but in fact was just a dead line.

(If you have googled "part-time Satanist club" I'm afraid I have nothing to offer you. However, the following link might appeal: Click me!)

999

Hello.

I haven't been able to come on Blogger recently. Something to do with having eaten all the cookies. How did they know?

To celebrate (?) my return, I will relate a conversation I had with the operator the other day.

Them: "Hello, 999. Which emergency service do you require?"
Me: "Shit!! I'm so sorry! I meant to ring the operator! I don't even know how I managed this!"
Them: "Oh yes, sorry. Operator speaking, how can I help you?"
Me: "?!!?"

Dear neighbour

I know it is unlikely that you are reading this, but I would just like to thank you for the early Christmas gift of a half-eaten kebab that you left on my doorstep last night.

If you are also the same person who was freaking Rebecca Juliet out by messing with our letterbox at 3am then please, please go away.

Yours sincerely,

Chris (from no. 35a)

PS stop putting stuff in my bin too!

And the winner for most absurdly titled television programme goes to...

"Best ever worst auditions 3"

Really, words fail me. This is why I don't watch TV.

My day at work

[preamble about children's names]
Chris: "A child would surely get bullied with that name... I only hope they aren't ginger."
Unnamed colleague #1: "Yeah... you know... I wouldn't even get a ginger cat. I went to see some kittens recently, and the ginger ones were cute but I had to get a black one as the ginger ones would have grown up... ginger."

Is gingerism the only tolerated form of racism alive today?

Other unnamed colleague #2: "I only really like films where there are lots of explosions... not too much thinking..."
Chris: "Escapism."
Colleague #2: "I haven't seen that one."
Chris: [sigh]

In other news, I got to level 50 on freerice.com... Yeah me!*


* I am sad. But go and check it out, it is brilliant.

Franz Ferdinand

I was listening to that old classic "Take Me Out" by Glaswegian rockers Franz Ferdinand the other day.

I quite like them.

But there will always be a small part of me that wants to have them assassinated...

... you know, just to see what would happen.