An Inconvenient Freecycler

> Hi there

> *** in *** freecycled her Dyson today, but accidentally gave away her new one instead of the old. She would really like to swap them back, please! Can the man who collected it, please give her a ring on *** or reply to me on this email?

> Many thanks and sorry for the confusion!

I believe that she was momentarily distracted by a volcano in her kitchen.


Another gem from our local Freecycle group

> My kids desperately need a Working dishwasher, as they are fed up being the manual alternative.
> And I must admit I fed up with yelling at them, when all I get back is I’ll do them later.

“Kids, do the washing up.”


“I said do the washing up!”

“No. Buy us a dishwasher.”

“Yes, master.”

“And we’re bored of tidying our rooms. Build a robot to do it for us.”

“Yes, master.”

“My books seem to be scattered all over the sitting room floor.”

“I shall hire a cleaner, my liege.”



It’s tragic that I’m always whining about the same things. Instead of making the same complaints over and over again, I’d like to refocus my energy onto coming up with a solution.



Charlie Brooker on nightclubs

> Even if you somehow avoid reproducing, isn’t it a lot of hard work for very little reward? Seven hours hopping about in a hellish, reverberating bunker in exchange for sharing 64 febrile, panting pelvic thrusts with someone who’ll snore and dribble into your pillow till 11 o’clock in the morning, before waking up beside you with their hair in a mess, blinking like a dizzy cat and smelling vaguely like a ham baguette? Really, why bother? Why not just stay at home punching yourself in the face? Invite a few friends round and make a night of it. It’ll be more fun than a club.

I occasionally find myself in a nightclub. I wouldn’t say that I enjoy it, but sometimes I come away with an amusing anecdote. And at the end of the day, what would life be without amusing anecdotes? More to the point, what would this blog be without amusing anecdotes? (Yes, I know, just a series of 500×375 photographs).


Rawl Things Bright And Beautiful

I put some metal shoe shelves in the garage at the weekend (the Ikea [REDD][], in case you are wondering).


For years, I’ve found [rawlplugs][] to be an interesting curiosity. They are undeniably clever, and also notable because they tend to be the lone plastic rangers in a toolbox of metal varmints. When I was a kid, I associated metal with grown-up things and plastic with toys. Clearly, rawlplugs had to be a toy of some sort. So what were toys doing in my dad’s toolbox?


Anyway, this weekend marks a transition for me: from being someone who looks at rawlplugs, to someone who has actually used a rawlplug for the purpose intended.

The shelves haven’t fallen down yet. This is impressive.


I’ll tell you where you can shove it…

As you are probably aware, Karen and I bought a house a fortnight ago. After about a week, I got bored of having the estate agent’s “Sold” sign stood up in front, so I took it down and laid it flat on the ground (allowing the estate agents to pick it up and take it away when they are in the area).

However, Karen informs me that at some point this morning, the “Sold” sign has been re-erected. Clearly, we need to move it a little further from the front yard so that it won’t be instantly replaced. Here are some thoughts.

1. In the dead of night, take the sign round to the churchyard and stand it up in front of the church. For maximum potential offense, stick it through someone’s grave, preferably a recent one.
2. In the dead of night, situate the sign in front of a nearby school. That will cause some rumours to fly about in the morning, eh?
3. In the dead of night, install the sign next to the railway line. Then, when a train comes past, it will make a fabulous clacking noise like those plastic things that you put in your bike wheel.
4. In the dead of night, scour the town for dog turds. Collect them all up into one large pile that is sufficiently big to support the sign. Place the sign in the pile.
5. In the dead of night, break into the allotments and locate the sign on some random guy’s plot. When he discovers it, he’ll be all, like, “But it wasn’t even on the market!” and “How much money did it sell for? Is that my money, now?”
6. Uhm… in a pub.
7. Throw it in the municipal swimming pool.
8. Balance it atop a telegraph pole.
9. Traffic cone.
10. Paris Hilton.



My t-shirts are good for two days now. Winter is approaching.




Talk Like A Pirate Day

September 19th always has been, and will continue to be, [Talk Like A Pirate day][]. Which is why (if the [plugin][] is working correctly) this entire site should be appearing in Piratese for the duration of the day.

[talk like a pirate day]:

*Note: this entry was written a week ago, and scheduled for later publishing. It should not be taken as an indicator that [Pipex][] have managed to get round to reconnecting me yet. In fact, if this note is here, you can probably take it as an indicator that they most definitely haven’t.*




The house move is imminent. I might be without internet access for a while. I don’t have much confidence in [Pipex][] these days, but maybe they will prove me wrong.


**UPDATE:** All in all, I have to admit that Pipex have done a decent job of getting me connected at the new place. My confidence in them is somewhat restored, though I maintain that their telephone support is understaffed.


A Drama Unfolding

*Continuing from [here][]*

> Here mate tell shaggy tht tht guy he called just called me back. Lol. He wasnt to happy. Dont think its gonna work mate. He didnt know who shaggy was.

I suppose it was inevitable that Charles would text me again. I’m now pondering my next step. I think that it’s time that Adam replied. I reckon this:

> Hi Charles I have a confession to make. I slept with your mum. Lol.