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Wrong number perhps Lol

> Adam my parents are gonna want to talk to yours Lol. So just tell them tht your rents are out. But say tht its ok with them when you i put you on to my dad. If they ask your mom will be givin us a lift back to your house from the pub. Charles.

It took me a few minutes to decipher this, but it looks like Adam and Charles are planning to go to a big party. I wonder if there will be hookers and gin.

If anyone wants Charles’s number to wind him up, just ask me. Maybe one of us could leave a voicemail that says “Charles, this is Adam’s father. We’re onto your little game.”

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Clock Enumeration

clockFrom the bottom of the house to the top. No, let’s do it the other way.

* Bedroom
* Karen’s computer (self-adjusting)
* Stereo (I think)
* CD/radio alarm clock
* The watch that I use from day to day
* The watch that I don’t use from day to day
* Karen’s watch
* Music room
* My computer (self-adjusting)
* The bluey-grey clock
* My camera
* Kitchen
* Microwave
* Another bluey-grey clock
* The boiler
* Dining room
* The iBook (self-adjusting)
* Front room
* DVD recorder
* VCR
* My mobile phone
* Karen’s mobile phone (self-adjusting?)
* The television might have a clock in it, but it is of no consequence.
* The car
* Stereo (self-adjusting)
* Dashboard clock

Some of these I have remembered to adjust the clock on. Some, I have not. Yet.

Inspiration came from the direction in which lies [Rob][].

[rob]: http://rjy.ath.cx/1143412377

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Merry kiss-mouse

Last week’s fiasco with the car required me to replace the radiator at a cost of approximately £100 + VAT + labour + VAT on labour (no doubt). It also meant that I needed to arrange transport to get back to my home and then back to Karen’s at the end of the week. It also meant that I needed to arrange transportation into work, which consisted of one train journey and 100 miles in one of our company’s cars, which I had to be insured on, and which I generously filled up with diesel at the end of the week, even though it had only been half full when I had picked it up.

Total cost – I’d estimate nearly £300.

This morning, whilst putting a last minute christmas card into a big shiny red pillar box, I noticed that my right tail light wasn’t working.

I popped round to the garage to get a replacement 12V 5W bulb for £1, which I fitted myself in about 12 seconds.

Conclusion: if I can find a way to cool a naturally aspirated petrol engine using only light bulbs, I may be in line for a Nobel prize.

Merry kiss-mouse, people. If you find a mouse on your windowsill, give it a kiss. The odds of it transferring a disease to you are sufficiently small that it is worth it for the joy that you will get when you see the smile on its little mousey face.

And remember, keep your mouth closed when you kiss mice. Though they like a big sloppy Frenchie with tongues as much as the next rodent, you should be conscious that they also like warm, damp holes in which to make a nest, and once a mouse gets under your tongue it can only be coaxed out by dangling small cubes of Gouda from your nose.

*Originally posted here*

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What’s red and yellow and featherless down one side

As soon as the tree goes up, I can stop feeling festive again. It’s a great relief. Then all the tinsel and lights just become another way of decorating the flat – totally meaningless, no significance whatsoever. That’s how things should be. All things should be insignificant. Even the important things. Less ego.

Some of the things that we do will be bigger than other things. Sometimes we will find ourselves passing our days working away on one small project after another, and sometimes we will be confronted by something enormous, something so big that even when you stand back you can’t see all of it at once. And then you have to break it up into smaller pieces, like the squirrel.

Mmmmm, cubed squirrel meat…

At first, you will find that your pan will contain a few small cubes of squirrel. It will be a big, empty pan, with some pieces of squirrel in the bottom. Daunting.

And then, it will start to look like a pan full of squirrel cubes, but with some space in it. Less daunting, but still incomplete. Don’t fuck up now. You’re not out of the woods yet.

One day, if you are very, very lucky, you will be the proud owner of a pan full of squirrel, all succulent and tender, fresh from the tree. And then you can cook your squirrel, enjoy your squirrel, devour your squirrel.

Devour your squirrel.

Oh, and by the way…

…the answer is: a canary that has been held up to an industrial sander.

*Originally posted here*

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Drying Is Fun

**Drying Is Fun**
ISDN 6-666-666666666-6666666666666666666

This book, by popular childrens’ author Spudchop Tagliatelle, is a must-have for parents of children suffering from post-shower-towelphobia. Witty and beautifully illustrated by popular childrens’ illustrator Robert Crowsfeet, it adopts a patronising tone that the children will mistake for sincerity, yet the parents will recognise as sharp piss-taking out of this pathetic affliction.

*Also by the same author:*

* Chewing Properly Before Swallowing Is Fun
* Waiting Until You Are In The Toilet Before Relaxing Your Appropriate Muscles Is Fun
* Keeping Out Of The Fucking Garage You Little Shit Is Fun
* Well-formed HTML Is Fun>

*Originally posted here*

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Airborne Particle Consciousness Week

I declare this week to be Airborne Particle Consciousness Week (or APCW, if you find that sort of thing easier to pronounce. I personally don’t).

For all of this week, you must be very careful to put the toilet seat all the way down before you flush your toilet.

Now now, don’t laugh. This is a serious matter. The statistics for the number of people who receive infections as a result of airborne particles that have been spread as a result of flushing a toilet whilst the seat is up are frankly quite unobtainable.

So you’ll thank me for this.

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I Was Absolutely Right, As It Turned Out

Things seem ever-so-slightly wrong today. It’s no one thing that I can place my finger on, but more a series of fractional discrepancies. A bunch of tiny little deltas that will cause the entire calculation to be intolerably “off”.

If there’s some major global crisis tomorrow, then consider this to be my “dread feeling of foreboding”.

On a lighter note, aren’t kittens lovely?

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Why my new dentist is fantastic, in chronological order

* Easy to get to – 5 miles from my flat.
* The car park is a bit small, but it is on a residential road with plenty of free street parking
* I arrived 25 minutes early and they were still able to see me pretty much straight away
* Friendliest reception staff in a dentist’s surgery that I have ever encountered
* My dentist is not bad to look at. Sorry, I’m so shallow.
* She didn’t make any vague “hmmmm” noises, which are always disconcerting.
* Very reasonable rates
* An overall feeling of being in the presence of competence
* Reception staff still friendly on the way out.
* As a result of my earliness, I was back on the road at 9:45.

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24

I remember the first series of 24. At the time I was totally hooked, but in retrospect I felt a lack of enthusiasm, and it plopped promptly from my mind. I attribute this to being totally daunted by the concept of ever watching it again.

After all, if I were to watch one episode again, I’d have to watch all 24, and that would be just too big a chunk of my life to lose on a repeat.

So I haven’t really been awfully excited by the arrival of the new series on these shores. The concept itself is no longer original, and the plot threatens to be a rehash. Yet I watched it last night, and unsurprisingly I didn’t feel the buzz of excitement which I did at the end of series one, episode one. However, I can be sure that I will be watching next week.

I wonder how many times Kim will get kidnapped. Oh, and I’m glad that Kiefer had a shave. After one hour of that fluffy golden West Country-stylee beard, my nerves were starting to wear raw.

And while I am being picky, what the hell is it with all those identikit-blondes? I can’t tell them apart, though maybe that is intentional on the part of the scriptwriters.

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I pay per kilobyte

A member of middle management was just bragging to me about how he has Messenger on his mobile phone now, and it is cheaper than text messaging.

“Cheaper?” I said. “So it’s not free then?”

“No,” he said “I pay per kilobyte.”

“Oh.” I said, as I walked off to plot his come-uppance.

Several hundred random keypresses later, and I think that my point has been made.