Question

Is there any truth in the rumour that Abdelbaset al-Megrahi has asked to be moved out of Libya and back to prison in Scotland for his safety?


*******


Below is the best chat-up line ever and always, always works.


'Excuse me love, could I ask your opinion. Does this damp cloth smell like chloroform to you?'

What an excellent idea

What a great idea. I even get a mention in the penultimate paragraph,  'old blokes who are bored with ranting.' 
The final paragraph refers to a great many people. You know who you are.

Getting there

The removal men arrived today and took the last of our stuff. A truck load.
I really like this company and I thoroughly recommend them if you want anything moving anywhere in Europe.
They make regular weekly trips between the UK, France and Spain and all points in between.


Anyway, Mark, one of the removers, who is based in Spain, told me this story.
He was assigned to a new lad who had just started with the firm and who had never travelled abroad before. Mark told the young man that they were going to Madrid for a job.
The lad asked 'which Madrid are we going to?'
Mark replied 'what are you talking about, there's only one Madrid?'
The lad who thought he was being smart said, 'no there isn't, there's Madrid and there's real Madrid.' Bless.

You'll need deep pockets

When you are stumped as to what to buy your patriotic friend, partner or bit on the side, here's the perfect gift.

OCD

Jan accused me of having more than a touch of OCD this morning.
As she rolled over for her morning cuddle, you know the sort where she lies on your left arm and sticks her hair in your face, I have to continue reading until I reach a certain point.
I can't put in my bookmark until one of two things happen. I have to stop reading at the end of a paragraph on the top left hand page or the end of a chapter.
This morning I could see the end of the chapter so I couldn't give her my full attention for about four minutes.
Jan, on the other hand, has a much more disorganised mind and can stop reading anywhere. To my horror she said that it doesn't matter if she reads a bit twice. I'd hate that.
She has a similar take on the packing that she is doing for the move. We tend to fall out because we can't agree on how to do things and, as she always gets her way, I just leave her to it.
There are boxes all over the house in a seemingly random fashion. Me, I'd finish one room at at time and boxes would be stacked neatly that would avoid double handling. I hate double handling anything. Do it right first time is my motto. Which does lead to me to spending a bit too much time thinking about things and not getting as much done as Jan.
Anyway, my fingers have been in contact with this keyboard for far too long so I need to go and wash my hands. Again.

Memory lane (again)

You know you can rely on me for excellent culinary tips. This one's a beaut.
We rarely cook chips at home because I can't stand the smell of frying lingering in the house and, even worse, covering my clothes.


Jan, in a rare fit of nostalgia, suggested that we had egg and chips for lunch. Now, whilst I hate the smell of chip fat everywhere, I love to eat 'em, so Jan sent me out (again) for the next best thing. In fact I think that they're better.


In the freezer cabinet look out for pommes rissolées. Tiny cubes of potato that fry up in a jiffy, minimising the smell, but making tiny golden, crispy on the outside and soft in the middle, 'chips'. Sprinkle with salt and serve with a fried egg. If you want to make it even more exotic and oriental have a bottle of HP Sauce on the side. A pan full of rissolées and two eggs serves one. Excellent.

You can fool all the people .................

I always suspected. Read this.

A quick trip to Barca

As we leave Barcelona, our friend Kevin, who was attending the Mobile World Congress, called to say that he would like to meet up.
We were heading out of the door so it wasn't possible, but when we got home I noticed this article. So there you have it, in one small article you have our last few days summed up.


There was a certain poignancy to our trip home because it felt like we were saying goodbye to an area, Catalunya, that we have grown to know and love. I know that we'll be back.

A special offer

Carolina has given me six iPads. She won't say where she got them from but I am happy to give them away free on a first come basis.
My mate Bryan has got the first one and he's really pleased with his! See below.

A dog prayer

Having just got back from the vet with Max this dog prayer from Bryan made me smile.

Dear God:  Is it on purpose our names are the same, only reversed?

Dear God:  Why do humans smell the flowers, but seldom, if ever, smell one another?

Dear God:  When we get to heaven, can we sit on your couch? Or is it still the same old story?

Dear God:  If a Dog barks his head off in the forest and no human hears him, is he still a bad Dog?

Dear God: We Dogs can understand human verbal instructions, hand signals, whistles, horns, clickers, beepers, scent ID's, electromagnetic energy fields, and Frisbee flight paths.
What do humans understand?

 

Dear God:  More meatballs, less spaghetti, please. 

Dear God:  Are there mailmen in Heaven? If there are, will I have to apologize? 

Dear God: When I get to Heaven may I please have my bollocks back?

That's a yellow son

Followers of English football might have a giggle over this.

Exchange rates

Waiting to check in, I was standing behind a little Asian lady at reception.
She was changing money and she was obviously quite agitated.
I heard her say, 'Why it change? Yestaday I get too hundra uros for yen, today I only geta huna eighty. Why it change?'
The receptionist shrugged her shoulders and said, 'Fluctuations.'
The little old lady said, 'And fluc you white people too.'

A new national anthem

I can't remember what game it was but I do remember being recently embarrassed at the UK national anthem. I think it was a football match and they played the opposing team's anthem first. This anthem was bright and breezy and quite uplifting. They then played God save the Queen and I remember thinking that it was terrible. A slow, painful dirge.
Which got me to thinking about what would be better. When you add to this the need for all the team to sing and 'bond', I came up with the following.
The team wouldn't have to remember the words and could join in with the dance. Can you imagine this. It would be hilarious, be one in the eye for Johnny foreigner, totally incomprehensible to them and great fun. Take a look at this and imagine Wayne Rooney doing it.




If that doesn't rock your boat how about this next one? Remember it has to be something appropriate, that eleven grown men can perform and be uplifting for the thousands who have paid good money to see them getting humiliated in the game.

Zen

There's a new programme on television called Zen. I like it, it's an expensive production, it's beautifully made and revolves around the beautiful people of Rome. You have to suspend a bit of belief but so far the plots haven't been too bad.
Prior to watching it the other night I said to Jan, who fancies Rupert Sewell the lead male, that I fancied the leading lady Caterina Murino. She turned and said, 'I don't mind as long as you don't dribble.'
Isn't that kind?

Intrepid (stupid) travellers

Something inside me says that we're mad, because we set off for the UK this morning by car. There's snow forecast pretty much along the whole route. 


Tonight we're scheduled to stop near Troyes for a slap up meal and a good night's sleep but just in case we are never seen again, Happy Christmas you lucky folks, it was nice knowing you.

Psychiatrists sharpen your pencils

Look, I know I can trust you not to snigger but I've got to tell you about my dream last night. It was really weird, even for me.


It seemed to start with a connection to royalty. I was befriended by Prince Charles who wanted my expertise on some stuff. Something to do with knowing where to go and how to get there. (You were a bloody chauffeur you idiot - Ed) As a result of that I had an 'access all areas' pass so was treated quite deferentially.


Anyway I was wandering around the grounds of some palace or other with stone walls and trees when I came across a lion, or two. One of the lions started to take an interest in me and seemed to be viewing me as the lion equivalent of a bit of sushi (if you get my drift), a bit of sushi minus the dipping sauce, so I started to drag up all my lion taming knowledge. That didn't take me long! I looked around for a chair and a whip but couldn't find one and had started to resign myself to the inevitable and hoped that it would be quick.


Suddenly I was saved because a lion tamer came along and knew exactly what to do. I so like England because there's always a lion tamer when you need one. A little while later I woke up and, after a checking around the room, I wandered off to the toilet. Phew.

Mustn't look at her ass

Mustn't look at her ass, I mustn't look at her ass, I mustn't look at her ass..................................

Her Royal Tweetness

Now that the queen has decided to join facebook I mused as to what her first tweet might be if she joined Twitter. Given that you are restricted to 140 characters or so I guess it might look something like this:


Dear Subject, unaccustomed as I am to tweeting, my husband and I have decided to join the rest of my subjects with this new fangled tweeting.......


Er, that's it.

You dida what?

Two friends, an Italian boy and a Jewish boy, come of age at the same time.


The Italian boy’s father presents him with a brand-new pistol. On the other side of town, at his Bar Mitzvah, the Jewish boy receives a beautiful gold watch.


The next day in school, the two boys are showing each other what they got. It turns out that each boy likes the other’s present better, and so they trade.


That night, when the Italian boy gets home, his father sees him looking at the watch. “Where did you getta thatta watch?” asks his father.


The boy explains that he and Sammy had traded.


The father blows his top. “Whatta you? Stupidda boy? Whatsa matta you? Somma day, you maybe gonna getta married. Then maybe somma day you gonna comma home and finda you wife inna bed with another man.


Whatta you gonna do then? Looka atta you watch and say, ‘How longa you gonna be?’”

The block

Grief! The pressure.


I've been inundated by several (oh, alright two) people demanding that I entertain them. Living in this media spotlight is very debilitating. I need my space, stop flashing those light bulbs at me.


I have no idea where the money went and have no recollection of sleeping with that man/woman/child. I must have been drugged or at the least very, very drunk.


The truth about the lack of posts is much more mundane. I have writers block and a distinct lack of stimulation. If only my mother was here, I'd have tons of amusing stories, but alas she isn't.