Today's Observer relates the story of one Helen Morrison who in 1727 placed one of the first known personal ads in a local Manchester paper. As a result of this, the Mayor of Manchester had her committed to a lunatic asylum.
He may have had a point.
I'm at it again and have two dates this week. I really don't know why. I feel very little enthusiasm. Yes, the alternative is another thrilling evening in Woking Travelodge but with enough chocolate and a good book that surely beats awkwardness, tedium, rejection and potentially worse. If only the cats could talk and had more than another 5 years in them I think I could do without a relationship. I get more than enough of people from work at present.
Sunday, 24 November 2013
Monday, 28 October 2013
Also wrong
Being princesses, the cats will only eat tne expensive stuff when it comes to wet food - Gourmet Ocean Delight in pouches. Like all cat foods this smells fairly repulsive and when I open the pouch, it tends to splatter. I usually get some on my hands in the process and have to wash them before dishing out the dry food to Rosa who doesn't like wet food for breakfast. This morning I absent mindedly licked my fingers on the way to washing them.
And it tastes good... A bit like Marmite but milder...
And it tastes good... A bit like Marmite but milder...
Sunday, 27 October 2013
Wrong, wrong, wrong
I saw something so beyond wrong yesterday that I've had a fun 24 hours thinking about a post about it. A driving school advertising driving lessons for 12 year olds. 'Junior driver' is what they call it. 'Encouraging joyriders' is probably a better name. I hope the lessons come with a free booster cushion.
I mean seriously, why?
Unlike some visitors to the blog, I'm not against teens doing adult things. Voting for example. I have no problem with 16 year olds voting as they will do in next year's referendum. If you were going to ban them from voting because they are ill informed, impetuous, only think of their own interests, short termist and the sundry other things thrown at Salmond when he announced it then logically you should be banning Tories from voting too and I don't see anyone suggesting that.
But why do teenagers need to drive*? I don't even think 17 year olds need to drive frankly. Because given all the above qualities, it's a lot easier to kill someone with a car than with a vote.
*I can see a small argument in favour of farmers' kids being able to drive farm vehicles. But not on the road.
I mean seriously, why?
Unlike some visitors to the blog, I'm not against teens doing adult things. Voting for example. I have no problem with 16 year olds voting as they will do in next year's referendum. If you were going to ban them from voting because they are ill informed, impetuous, only think of their own interests, short termist and the sundry other things thrown at Salmond when he announced it then logically you should be banning Tories from voting too and I don't see anyone suggesting that.
But why do teenagers need to drive*? I don't even think 17 year olds need to drive frankly. Because given all the above qualities, it's a lot easier to kill someone with a car than with a vote.
*I can see a small argument in favour of farmers' kids being able to drive farm vehicles. But not on the road.
Sunday, 20 October 2013
No worries you say?
Whenever I go into the office I have to walk past a City AM vendor and every day he thrusts a City AM at me. Every time, I say no (have you read City AM? It's excruciatingly dull and I've barely any time for interesting work reading as it is) and every time he replies, "No worries."
No worries.
No worries. As if I require absolution for not taking his tedious instrument of capitalist propaganda. As if I have dealt him a grievious ill.
This makes me want to shriek at him and punch him in the face, a feeling that grows every time it happens.
It worsened round about the time of Glastonbury when his normal middle class Surrey twat hairdo got cut into something part shaved, funky and urban and just as rapidly grew back out after Glastonbury finished.
Today I was in Tesco and the checkout chappy asked if I wanted a plastic bag. I said no (as an old bag obviously I carry an old bag). "No worries," he said. I had to be restrained from leaping across the belt and giving him something to worry about.
Where did this hideous abomination come from? And more to the point, how can we eliminate it?
No worries.
No worries. As if I require absolution for not taking his tedious instrument of capitalist propaganda. As if I have dealt him a grievious ill.
This makes me want to shriek at him and punch him in the face, a feeling that grows every time it happens.
It worsened round about the time of Glastonbury when his normal middle class Surrey twat hairdo got cut into something part shaved, funky and urban and just as rapidly grew back out after Glastonbury finished.
Today I was in Tesco and the checkout chappy asked if I wanted a plastic bag. I said no (as an old bag obviously I carry an old bag). "No worries," he said. I had to be restrained from leaping across the belt and giving him something to worry about.
Where did this hideous abomination come from? And more to the point, how can we eliminate it?
Saturday, 19 October 2013
Explains a lot
I was in Spain last week visiting a friend and something happened to give me a view of a very unhappy future. I was out with said friend (50s, slim) and a friend of hers (indeterminate, slim). We decided to have tapas for supper. The friend's friend (FF) spoke good Spanish so took charge of ordering. The place we were in specialised in brochettes so that's what she recommended we ate.
Me: I'm not sure that will be enough, will it?
FF: It will be fine.
Me: Well, let's order several then (meaning several each - still not much food but...).
She ordered two. Not each. Between the three of us. And no bread. So my supper was three small mouthfuls of meat and a cube of red pepper. And they thought that was enough.
Is this what it takes to be slim in middle age? I'm screwed then - and currently the heaviest I've ever been and gaining 2-3 lbs a week.
Me: I'm not sure that will be enough, will it?
FF: It will be fine.
Me: Well, let's order several then (meaning several each - still not much food but...).
She ordered two. Not each. Between the three of us. And no bread. So my supper was three small mouthfuls of meat and a cube of red pepper. And they thought that was enough.
Is this what it takes to be slim in middle age? I'm screwed then - and currently the heaviest I've ever been and gaining 2-3 lbs a week.
Monday, 14 October 2013
A time of heroes is upon us (possibly)
I was watching the trailer to the latest Lord of the Rings wannabe when it suddenly occurred to me that in their relentless fight to demonise the ultra-fertile poor, the Daily Mail and the Tories may have missed something. It can only be a matter of time until we start seeing a spate of seventh sons of seventh sons doing heroic deeds. That's got to be good hasn't it? Combatting evil rulers and wicked witches and dragons and all that sort of thing and leading us back towards the light and the good.
Monday, 23 September 2013
More tragic news
Some of you may remember a while back my description of the unedifying spectacle of me throwing a major tantrum in front of the daughter of Alexander McCall Smith when she told me that I had elevated cholesterol and had to eat less cheese.
Grudgingly I complied and cut back cheese, butter, full fat yogurt, steak and other such delights and instead ate oily fish (blech) and vegetables (double blech). I also, as predicted, deprived of my stock weight control and comfort eating methods of eating a high fat, low carb diet, started mainlining sugar and other carbs and as a result have piled on a huge amount of weight.
I was therefore hoping that when I finally got round to repeat cholesterol test the results would be even worse and I could reinforce my new agish prejudice that sugar is the problem and fat is unjustly maligned and head back to the cheese and dripping with a cry of 'told you so'.
Tragically, my results are much improved, even though I'm nearly a stone heavier than 6 months ago.
Even more tragically, they are not so much improved that I am allowed go back to serious cheese eating.
Arse*.
*And an ever expanding one at that.
Grudgingly I complied and cut back cheese, butter, full fat yogurt, steak and other such delights and instead ate oily fish (blech) and vegetables (double blech). I also, as predicted, deprived of my stock weight control and comfort eating methods of eating a high fat, low carb diet, started mainlining sugar and other carbs and as a result have piled on a huge amount of weight.
I was therefore hoping that when I finally got round to repeat cholesterol test the results would be even worse and I could reinforce my new agish prejudice that sugar is the problem and fat is unjustly maligned and head back to the cheese and dripping with a cry of 'told you so'.
Tragically, my results are much improved, even though I'm nearly a stone heavier than 6 months ago.
Even more tragically, they are not so much improved that I am allowed go back to serious cheese eating.
Arse*.
*And an ever expanding one at that.
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