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Showing posts with the label pests

The 'On' Switch and Other Mysteries.

Here's my most recent art video, which shows how I created a watercolour and gouache portrait of Freddie Higson, a lovely lady who I've had the pleasure of knowing since our high school days. I hope you enjoy watching it. I've been offline for nearly two months. My computer suddenly died. It was six years old and had already been fixed a couple of times, and had always been okay rather than great. So I decided to pension it off and buy a better one. This in itself caused minor confusion, as when I unpacked it there was no tower. Had it been left in the shop? So off I went, back to said shop whose staff then hunted for the missing tower. It stayed missing. So they contacted their company's computer whiz kid, who gently explained that this computer doesn't have a tower - it's all built in behind the monitor. Oh. Mystery solved. So I began the process of setting up my new computer, which seemed simple. The various bits were plugged into the correct places, but coul

Widget

Having been silently nagged out of enjoyable languor by the length of the lawn, I hauled our mower onto the grass in readiness to restore some semblance of respectable order. That’s when I discovered that one side of the mower’s handle was hanging off. Now how had that happened? It had been attached when last stowed away. I would have noticed, otherwise. Somewhere between the lazily waving grass where the mower now sat and the cupboard where it usually rested was the widget which held the handle on. Could I find it? No, of course not! Despite spending over an hour rummaging around on my knees looking for the black plastic screw-like widget, it remained in hiding. Using the mower with only one side of the handle fixed in place would have been hopeless, if not possibly even dangerous. And naturally there seemed to be no way of using some other cobbled-together device to hold it safely and securely together. “Oh well,” said hubby, later that night, “it was on its last legs anyway.

Hair and Air

Picture the scene – modern hairdressing salon, people having stuff done to their heads while other people keep asking where they’re going for their holidays etc., and a little white reception desk staffed by a pretty girl confronted with an Adele. Me: I’d like to make an appointment for a cut and blow-dry. Girl: Which of our stylists would you like to see? Me: I don’t know; I haven’t been here before, but I want a senior stylist. We then sort out the day and time for the appointment. Girl: What name is it, please? Me: Adele Cosgrove-Bray. Girl: Picks up a pencil and writes Edel Cosg… Me: Don’t worry, everyone gets it wrong. That’s A-d-e-l-e C-o-s-g-r-o-v-e hyphen B-r-a-y. Girl: Writes Adele Cosgrove’Bray. Me: Oh, that’s an apostrophe. You need a hyphen. Girl: Giggles, uses an eraser and writes Cosgrove,Bray. Me: Smiling politely That’s a comma. You need a hyphen – like a little dash which joins up two words? Girl: Oh, sorry! Giggles, uses the eraser again and

Dream Holiday?

This advert (reproduced word-for-word here) might appeal:- "Stay at our hotel for a 7 day holiday you will receive: GLASS OF WINE WITH EVENING MEAL EACH DAY, FREE PACKED LUNCH, WHICH INCLUDES CRISPS, BISCUITS, DRINK, PIECE OF FRUIT AND A SAUSAGE ROLL (sandwich option extra cost of £1.80) 1 NEWSPAPER (PER ROOM). HAPPY HOUR TWICE A WEEK 9-10pm ALL HALF PRICE. Our famous 5 Course Hot Buffet, Good food with En-suite, Colour TV, Telephone Dancing, and Entertainment each night.” I wonder how telephone dancing works? Is it a bit like telephone sex, in that you don’t actually do anything but talk about it? Picture the scene, with some weary holiday-maker perched on the edge of their hotel bed, furtively whispering into the handset: “I’m waving my arms now. Ooow, and just look at those tapping toes, and that dodgy wiggly-shuffle thingy that I always do….” Who checks to make sure guests only have “1 NEWSPAPER PER ROOM”? What happens if you sneak in another, or – oow, the thrill – seve

TV is Trash

My low opinion of television has been echoed in a recent study, which has called for a total ban on TV for all children under the age of three, for a maximum of one hour per day for the three-to-fives age group, and for severe restrictions on time spent in front of the screen for older children. Psychologist Dr Aric Sigman has published a report analysing thirty-five scientific studies about television's effects on viewers, which has identified fifteen negative effects. These include obesity, damage to the immune system due to reduced melatonin levels, eyesight problems, an increased likelihood of Alzheimer's, Autism, diabetes and attention disorders. Read the full article here:- http://news.scotsman.com/uk.cfm?id=265852007 To these disorders, I would propose that of decreased imagination, as all any television viewer is required to do is to stare mindlessly at the contraption while a constant stream of mediocrity and trash (and who-knows-what subliminal messages) pour into

Shells and Nureyev

What exactly is the point of Christmas cards? Why do people who've not picked up the phone to say hi once during the last twelve months suddenly feel compelled to mail me images of bloated snowmen? One card arrived with "write soon" scribbled in one corner. Hmm, if memory serves me well, this same person had written a similar message on the card she sent last year, and when I did write a letter no reply was forthcoming. I won’t be bothering again. Bah humbug. Certainly we’ve had no real snowmen here this year. In fact, we’ve not even had an overnight frost. It’s so mild that I’ve got roses coming into full bloom in the garden, and around the village are cherry trees in flower. This is not normal winter weather! Anyway, half of the seasonal nonsense is now over, and the shops are desperately trying to sell us the same junk which we didn’t want before the 25th. We had to brave the insanity of Birkenhead on the 24th, unfortunately, as my digital camera isn’t working pr

Gozilla and the Carrot

Our bread board, butter dish and coffee machine have met with a sticky end. It was, apparently, all the fault of a carrot. Picture the scene, if you will. There was I, reclining on my pillows and sipping V8 Citrus, one hand idly tickling Ygraine’s ear, when the peace was rent by a florid flurry of fine Anglo-Saxon expressions of exasperation, followed by a rapid succession of thumps and crashes from the kitchen below. More traditional phrases pierced the Sunday ambience. He’d been making himself a smoothie, and a small carrot had been missed by the blender’s blades so he poked it with a wooden spoon then turned to the tap to rinse said spoon – only to feel the cold, wet splatter of smoothie hit the back of his head as the lid flew off. He span round, intending to grab the blender’s lid but somehow knocked the bread board which crashed to the floor taking the coffee machine and butter dish with it. Naturally, the butter dish lid fell off and broke, splattering the freshly launder