Smile!

Trousers has for some time been Bloggen ein totes Pferd. I hadn't fully appreciated the depths of blogging despair which the gentle Trousers had seen fit to plumb, until he used valuable space on his equine-scented blog to present me with an award. I am now officially a maker of smiles. Fancy that: me - a jack-of-all-trades public sector parasite consultant, making people smile. Well, I never! I'm pleased to be able to make someone, somewhere smile.

It seems that it is obligatory to make a speech, so mine is below. Please note that to fulfil the conditions of the award, I am wearing a posh frock as I write, on stage and blubbing uncontrollably.

OK, so I've cheated a bit. Instead of delivering a speech of flowing prose, I thought I'd make a list. Hence, I present all the things which I can recall have made me smile today:

1. The scent of the lillies on the air when I got up this morning;
   
2. The cobwebs heavy with raindrops which spanned the railings alongside the footpath to the station;
   
3. The near perfect timing of the walk to the station to have just sufficient time to buy a ticket and jog to the platform before the train arrived;
   
4. The wonderful turns of phrase in the book I'm currently reading;
   
5. The scones in the canteen being warm and making an excellent and tasty substitute breakfast;
   
6. My opinion seriously counting at work;
   
7. The fantastically terrible pink tie sported by a colleague;
   
8. Having an idea which was valued by the same colleague (for whom I have a great deal of professional respect);
   
9. My opinion counting again at work (twice in one day - this is a record for this programme);
   
10. Arriving home to find a meal ready and waiting;
    
11. This post.

So, no prizes for guessing that the prize for making me smile goes to Casdok.

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P.S. Discovery of the day: Stray appeared to be trying to excavate her ear, complaining of a painful pimple located deep inside the vessel. Having previously suffered a similar affliction myself, I was of course full of sympathy, and helpfully suggested that cutting the ear off would probably be the most effective way of relieving the pain. Could this be the reason for Van Gogh's self-amputation?

Trying times

The woman sat next to me on the tube this evening was apparently enjoying some amazingly potent cheese and onion flavoured chewing gum. The assault on my olfactory sensors was made all the worse by her inability to keep her mouth closed whilst chewing. The otherwise short journey to Wimbledon has never seemed so arduous...

All the lovely gifts...

After writing off my car last weekend, I have received:

• One week off work;
  
• A tub of Extremely Chocolatey mini chocolate roll things;
  
• A box of Fair Trade filter coffee things;
  
• Two tins of posh soup;
  
• Some rather nice and posh toffee chocolate biscuits;
  
• Two boxes of oaty, fruity things masquerading as biscuits;
  
• A box of chocolates;
  
• A free lunch;
  
• Lots of lovely hugs and kisses;
  
• Loads of offers of "Anything I can do...";
  
• A beautiful bouquet of lilies.

And they're hugely, hugely appreciated.

Newly discovered...

Without further ado, my discoveries of the week:

1. When a motorcyclist appears out of the blue to headbutt your windscreen at high velocity, it really is very much like it looks on the advert*;
   
2. Even under conditions of shock, my concerns are attuned primarily to ensuring the laws of physics have been maintained rather than ensuring the well-being of my fellow homo sapiens. Rather worryingly, after the collision, my first thoughts were along the lines of "It looks like a motorcyclist has just wrapped himself around my car... and disappeared. How on earth did that happen?" rather than something along the lines of "I wonder whether that chap is badly hurt?";
   
3. When a young and spotty estate agent turns up late to a viewing, then leaves me to wander around in the rain whilst he shows the property to the other interested parties (who also showed up half an hour late) and does not see fit to apologise, I become disproportionately incensed by people who can't keep appointments and don't see fit to give you the courtesy of a call to let you know they'll be late;
   
4. Estate agents are quite possibly a separate species from the rest of us (but refer to Point 8);
   
5. If you put a hundred people and a room and make them dance for two hours, the room becomes very hot and sweaty and rather unpleasant. This is particularly true after 9pm when the doors of the facility have to remain closed to prevent any wayward strains reaching the delicate ears of the local residents;
   
6. Some of my colleagues really do care about my well-being;
   
7. Cops are really rather good at doing an interesting mix of practicality and understanding - a cop friend making a home visit brought me biscuits, chocolate, and alcohol to cheer me up after writing off my car in afore-mentioned motorcycle incident and, because she'd been warned my house had no heating, also brought two tins of soup in case I needed something hot and warming. Awwwww....;
   
8. Used car sales types share only 70% of their DNA with the rest of humanity. The rest of it appears to be common to woodlice, snakes, and other things that shelter under stones;
   
9. Power steering and central locking is all rather nice, isn't it?

Next week I hope to discover many less shocking, incensing and expensive things...

*No motorcyclists were seriously harmed in the making of this post

The future's bright... and small

I have alluded in previous posts to how my life is over-run with small things. It really is. I live with short people. On the Midget-Human-Giant spectrum, Stray is marginally taller than a legal midget (and thus a super-midget, verging on the sub-human). Badger is short for a human but rather tall for a badger, lying in the sub-human to human zone. (I suppose there is a clue in the species...) I am most certainly not short - nudging on 6ft, give or take, depending on how long it's been since I got out of bed, and the height of my heels. I fall somewhere between super-human and sub-giant territory.

I like being tall. I like the fact that, more often than not, my nostrils are well clear of other people's armpits on packed tubes and trains. This is usually a good thing, except when I find myself 'facing' under-heighted men whose heads are closer to my chest than the normal rules of decorum would allow. I also like the fact that the grey hairs which are beginning to sprout on the top of my head are out of sight of most other people.

I've observed aspects of being short which are less than ideal. Stray can barely reach the pedals in her car. This strikes me as A Thing Which Is Not Good.

I am tall enough to be able to reach a clothes lines strung high enough to hang bedlinen from without it engaging with passing dogs without having to jump and catch the line at full stretch.

I might be tempted to feel slightly superior, but I am instead rather jealous of my semi-pint housemates (see, I have to insult them at every opportunity to get over the sense of inadequacy caused my unnecessary height, mass and volume.)

Here's why:

• They buy children's clothes and pay no VAT;
  
• The loss of human functionality incurred on shrinking a human appears to be extremely nonlinear in favour of the midgets;
  
• They fit in a normal size bed without feet hanging out the end or head crushed against the headboard;
  
• They can live in tiny spaces and not get claustrophobic;
  
• They can't see the dust on top of the fridge;
  
• They can walk through the 'garden' without danger of being decapitated by low-hanging vines and other vegetation of horizontally-orientated growth;
  
• They can walk on the roof without fear of it collapsing;
  
• They have oodles of leg room on even the most cramped of commuter trains;
  
• They weigh less, consume less fuel to transport, and require less food to sustain, being inherently more ecologically sustainable;
  
• They are less likely to damage extraneous limbs or graze knuckles when climbing up stairs;
  
• They have less far to fall;
  
• They look sort of sweet, in the way that the next iteration of unfeasibly small laptops and mobiles look sweet.

Damn them...

On the other hand:

• I do not have to perform minor athletic miracles every time I hang out my washing;
  
• I can fully utilise top shelves;
  
• My arms are sufficiently long to be able to put duvet covers on duvets unaided;
  
• I can usually reach the loo roll, regardless of the ingenuity of the last visitor to the facility in replacing it after use;
  
• I can see over the counter at the chippy;
  
• And over the dashboard of my car;
  
• People do not feel the need to tell me when they have encountered someone shorter than me.

On balance, though, I think the short people have it. They're certainly better for the planet. Perhaps a selective breeding programme should be established in the interests of a sustainable future...

Pixie's posers

Over at the blog of the same name, Prada Pixie posed some questions. I've answered them.

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THE QUESTIONS!!

1. What is your all time favourite book, from childhood, as an adult?
The BFG. I don't think I have an all-time favourite adult book. I think I lost the ability to form opinions when I came into prolonged contact with civil servants.

2. All time favourite movie as above?
All movies were terrifying as a child (the cinema was dark and contained odd people), and now, well, I don't know. Amelie was sweet.

3. Favourite type of chocolate, and how much of it do you eat a week?
Green & Black's Maya Gold. Maybe a bar every other month.

4. Favourite drink, non alcoholic and alcoholic?
Tea. Beer.

5. Where is your all time best holiday destination?
The inner reaches of my imagination. I go there many times a day during my micro-holidays. So much more fun than being holed up in an office, and so much quicker to get to than anywhere requiring a visit to Heathrow....

6. Where is your dream holiday destination?
I quite fancy crossing the Atlantic by Tall Ship. That's not really a destination, though, is it? I'll conveniently ignore that and hope no-one noticed... Oops, did I say that out loud??

7. Which is the best Beatles track of all time?
I am the Nerd God Walrus. Evidently.

8. What are you most proud of having achieved (having children doesn't count)
Winning Blades in Eights with lots of my family around for the celebrations.

9. What would you want for your last supper ever?(assuming it's food you like now and not liquidized mush when you are 90!)
Lamb stew like my mum and her mum (and probably every female ancestor) make/made it.

10.How old were you when you had your first snog, name of snoggee if you dare?
5. Ben Fenwick.

11.Do you have an unfulfilled ambition?
Yes. More than one.

12.If so what is it?
Well, probably the most pressing one is to get more leisure time.

13.What yer gonna do about achieving it?
Retire. But not for a while.

14.Describe the outfit that best describes you as you are.
No outfit. Really. Bare skin, all the way.

15.If you were on Desert Island Discs which one piece of music would you want to keep?
Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings. The essential melancholy to my sanguinity.

16. And what would the luxury item be, as in no use at all, on a desert island?
My violin together with all its accompanying gubbins and violin-friendly conditions.

17. Outside of your partner, Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Beyonce Knowles, J-lo who do you fantasise about?
Hmm. Sir Thomas More was a bit of a hero, but rather difficult to fantasise about due to separation of head from body and five hundred years removal.... Oh, OK. A tall, dark handsome gentleman who I refuse to name.

18.Describe the contents of your purse/wallet, i.e. receipts/ bus tickets/ plastic you never use/ and if you're lucky enough money. (English use of the word purse here).
Library cards for my alma mater, a photocopier card for the Radcliffe Science Library, a credit card, debit card, driver's licence, ye olde donor card, half-used book of postage stamps, four days of expenses receipts, list of telephone extensions for my colleagues, probably a few reward cards, some coins, etc.

19.Outside of the family what item would you save from the inferno?
Are housemates items? I'd probably save them. One over each shoulder. They can't weigh that much... Assuming they managed to get themselves out, I'd take my fiddle.

20.How much would you like me to stop now?
This much.

Geek? Nerd? or Supreme Nerd God?

Heck. It's true. I now am not only a Geek. I am a Nerd, too. In fact, I am The Supreme Nerd God. This doesn't fit well with my atheism...

DJ very kindly left a challenge on her blog. I appear to be the nerdiest person in the universe.

No, really. No-one has a higher Nerd Score.

And I answered all those questions honestly, too. Somebody please Help Me....

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Post Script

Having suspended my belief for long enough to pretent to accept that the pigeon IS naked (I would have said so were it plucked, but it isn't and this caused me no end of existential angst: "if I cannot accept the pigeon to be naked, can I truly be a nerd?"), I can now reveal my nerdotype:

I feel compromised on the subject of pigeon nudity...