|
JAYNE WITH A WHY |
|
|
. : Recent Posts : .
NEW LIFE . : Archives : .
January 2006 . : On My Perch at Night, I'm Reading A Book On My Kindle: .
|
. : motley assortment of blogs from other parts of the multiverse : .
. : MY FAMILY MOTTO: FUCK 'EM ALL EXCEPT US: .
. : Credits : .
Template By Caz . : email: spadgesmum at gmail dot com .
|
|||||
Wednesday, July 26, 2006CRACKS ARE SHOWING - TIME FOR A MINI BREAKWe've had a rather stress-filled few days this week. The answer to this is to Sod Everyone & Everything..............we're heading for Fujairah for a long weekend in order to unwind. Normal blogging will resume in the near future. Have a great weekend folks :-)  
Monday, July 24, 2006BEACH BABY!Despite rumours, actual sunshine & warm weather stopped by Dublin a short while ago. Many residents of Ireland thought this to be a freak of nature & were unsure of what to do.............run for cover at the sight of that big yellow ball in the sky...........or plaster themselves in Factor 783million sunscreen! Needless to say, the good weather was an ideal opportunity to introduce Chikkin to the seaside...........ag shame! Mummy Shans & Chikkin enjoying the beach.  Chikkin sampling the sand.....ewwww!  Now is this a mischievous face or what?
Finally, I'm not shy to admit that my heart simply swells with love & pride over this photo.
Saturday, July 22, 2006PHOTOS FROM THE M.K. GARDENFor some unknown reason, all the photos wouldn't load on the previous post, so here they are :-)    
I was sorting through some old photos & files on a disc just recently & found these, pics of the garden I made (all by myself she says, puffing out her ample chest......ahem) whilst living in the Magic Kingdom. Grandma gave me the gardening 'bug' a few years ago after I stopped working............she said "Don't think yer gonna sit on yer arse all bloody day - get out & help me in the garden!") I did just that & really enjoyed myself. I created a lovely garden from a bare piece of bush whilst in Kenya & thought I'd try the same whilst living in Riyadh. Every pot I used in this bed was a broken one. After living in the bush, you learn to make the most of everything!  I started off digging an outline for the shape of the bed & then dug it all over, added some potting soil, broken pots, coloured stones & some plants. I was a bit younger (I feel like I've aged 15yrs in the last 6!) & was full of energy. So, this is the 'early days' of the main flower bed.........  Heaps & heaps of water, litres of sweat, more than enough swear words & a few months later, the bed + garden looked like this:
I miss having a garden, but between Grandma & myself, we'll make a nice 'green spot' out on the balcony!
Monday, July 17, 2006WADDAYA FINK??So wadday'all fink to the new layout hmmm?
Saturday, July 15, 2006SPEED BUMPSA picture paints a thousand words...............  (Tainted, at least I didn't put a cat!)
HOW TO BE A BAD DRIVER SOUTH Africans are notoriously bad drivers; poor, even shocking if you take our road toll into account. At last count it was about 35 deaths every day. It’s a serious matter that the authorities have found difficult to address. Many factors need to be attended to including driver training, condition of roads, condition of vehicles, law enforcement and others that revolve around these four. The burgeoning economy is another factor, with more vehicles on roads and inexperienced drivers who can now afford to own a car. Road safety is a serious matter and every death or injury costs the country dearly. We can prattle on about rules of the road, poor driver and pedestrian behaviour and so on until we’re blue in the face, without anyone taking notice. So here’s another angle which might strike home to a few ... a tongue-in-cheek look at a very serious subject – some of the bad habits that we and other road users may have: Turn signals will give away your next move. A real driver never uses them. Under no circumstances should you leave a safe distance between you and the car in front of you, or the space will be filled by somebody else putting you in an even more dangerous situation. Crossing two or more lanes in a single lane-change is considered going with the flow. The faster you drive through a red light, the less chance you have of getting hit. Never, ever come to a complete stop at a stop sign. No one expects it and it will inevitably result in you being rear-ended. If you want your insurance company to pay for a new rear bumper, come to a complete stop at all stop signs. Braking is to be done as hard and late as possible to ensure that your ABS kicks in, giving a nice, relaxing foot massage as the brake pedal pulsates. For those without ABS, it’s a chance to stretch your legs. Speed limits are arbitrary figures, given only as suggestions and are apparently not enforceable during rush hour. Just because you’re in the correct lane and have no room to speed up or move over, doesn’t mean that a driver flashing his lights behind you doesn’t think he can go faster in your spot. The aim of every driver is to get there first, by whatever means necessary. Doesn’t that sound familiar. Chuckle at it, but also reflect. Many of us do many of these stupid things. Taken from The Chiel, Daily Dispatch. P.S. Highly applicable to the UAE methinks!
I don't know if this works..............hope so, cos it's wicked! http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-2379439576479603602 ">Link
Wednesday, July 12, 2006THE PROPER PORTRAIT Grandma - The Proper Portrait! (Wanted: One preferably elderly man, who has heaps of dosh, smokes & drinks Brandy on a regular basis & doesn't want/can't perform sex. All offers considered.)
I had a good ole natter with Grandma this morning & thought to myself I must take notes on what we were woffling about.......namely some of the things from her childhood & early married life. My my, how the times have changed, as I'm sure you'll see...................... Grandma remembers war planes dropping bombs over the Sheffield area & the evacuee children who were sent up to Yorkshire from the South coast region. At the time she lived quite close to Doncaster racecourse & remembered the jockey & stable-hands accommodation being taken over by the army, to house the troops. She used to have to queue at the local butcher to buy horsemeat & also whale meat, because normal meat just wasn't available. (She also recalled a woman of suspected ill-repute nicknamed 'Racecourse Rita'!) As a young 'un, she would have to help her mother with all the household duties....................these included cleaning the windows every single Saturday, come rain, shine, hail or snow. She would have to fire up the copper boiler every week, to boil all the whites & sheets. Once boiled, the sheets were removed & taken to the bath to be rinsed & then put through a mangle. Other washing was done by hand, with a washboard propped up in the bath. Her parents had a house with an actual bathroom - it contained an enamel bath & a wash basin. The toilet was outdoors. Every night, she would have to wash the dinner dishes & also had to help her mother with the baking. As a teenager, she was allowed to go out 2 nights per week - on a Wednesday & Saturday. If she wasn't home by 11pm on the dot (or sooner) her mother would be pacing up & down the street looking for her. Punishment for being a minute late meant being grounded for a week. Grandma always missed the last waltz at local dances, as they only came on at 11pm & it was always too late. There was no such thing as a disco - you went to a dance & there would be a live band playing. Grandma left school when she was 14 years old. Her first job in life was as a Clerk, working for the Co-op. Her weekly salary was 15/- (shillings) & from that, she had to give her mother 5/- for her 'keep'. Bus fares to & from work were 1d (1 'old' penny) & going to the cinema cost a whopping 1/- (plus sweets!). Married life began with sub-letting 2 rooms in a 'pit' (coal mine) house from a newly acquired sister-in-law. The arrangement didn't last too long. Grandma (& Grandad) moved out of their rooms, out of their village & out of the County. Shock/horror..............it wasn't the 'done thing' in those days..........you were expected to live & die in the village where you were raised. The first TV that Grandma bought had to be turned off every hour, to prevent it from over-heating. The first fridge she ever had was huge, but it's inside capacity would hold a couple of pints of milk & a pound of butter if you were lucky! She was very proud to have a fridge. The first car Grandad bought was a 2nd hand Ford. Grandma remembers it costing them £20 & it had spoked wheels. Her first washing machine was a tiny Hoover, which cost £18. It's maximum load was one sheet. She had her first baby in hospital. It was National Health Services policy that a woman could have the first baby in hopital & any others thereafter were to be born at home. After the birth, she wasn't allowed to get out of bed for 10 days, even though she'd had a perfectly normal & uneventful delivery! Hubs was born at home. Grandma prepared herself as soon as she realised she was in labour. She dragged the cot from one room to another, ready for the new baby. Grandad was asleep. She managed to wake him & tell him to go down to the local phone box, to phone the midwife for assistance. He roused himself, went out in the bitter cold, phoned the midwife, said "my wife's having a baby......can you come?" & put the phone down. He neglected to tell the midwife who he was! Thankfully, the midwife only had Grandma on her books for around then, so she arrived in time for the delivery. Grandad went back to sleep, so Grandma lit the fire in the fireplace, because in those days, you had to burn the afterbirth if you delivered at home. In 1955 she had all her teeth out, at once (aaarrrrhhhh!!!) & had to wait six weeks before having dentures fitted. (OMG!) Until the 60's Grandma & Grandad had always lived in 'company' housing. They bought their first house for £3000. Neither Grandma's parents, nor her in-laws had ever owned their own homes. In 1964, a friend of Grandma's suggested she smoke a cigarette after each meal, as this would help her lose weight. Divorce - in those days - was understood to be totally scandalous! Couples stuck together, normally through 'thick & thin'. In 1975, I met Hubs. In 1976 Grandma & Grandad came to South Africa to meet me & have a holiday to celebrate their Silver Wedding Anniversary. They fell in love with my adopted country & 3yrs later, emigrated. The rest - as they say - is History........................
 The Chikkin is mobile.........on her hands & knees that is! She started crawling a coupla weeks ago & has also learnt how to pull herself up, so that she can stand against furniture........clever girl! She's been all poorly just recently though, with a nasty cold......awwwww bless. 
Spadge had an operation on his shoulder about 10 days ago, so he's really limited in handling Chikkin & Shans has got arthritis in her hands, so she's also suffering..............and on top of that they've also both got colds, yuk!
If only Dublin was as close as Dubai...............I'd be over in a shot! *big sigh*
Tuesday, July 11, 2006DIFFERENT VIEWS........... So here I was this morning, trying to kick-start the sludge into action (well, I'd only had 2 coffees!) & I thought I'd share this...................... The view from the deck at home in G'nubes  The view from the balcony of home in Abu Dhabi(!)  'Chalk & Cheese' comparisons I grant you, but funnily enough, I'm happy in either spot. Grandma is now in charge of the 2 small Oleanders, 3 Bougainvilleas, 2 Jasmine creepers, a red Hibiscus & a Gardenia currently growing on the balcony. At least the balcony has space for plants & for that I'm extremely grateful :-) *sigh*
Monday, July 10, 2006ON A LIGHTER NOTE.......TOP TEN REASONS WHY A DOG IS BETTER THAN A WOMAN A dog's parents will never visit you. A dog loves you when you leave your clothes on the floor. A dog limits its time in the bathroom to a quick drink. A dog never expects you to telephone. A dog will not get mad at you if you forget its birthday. A dog does not care about the previous dogs in your life. A dog does not get mad at you if you pet another dog. A dog never expects flowers on Valentine's Day. The later you are, the happier a dog is to see you. A dog does not shop. HOW DOGS ARE BETTER THAN MEN Dogs mean it when they kiss you. Dogs miss you when you're gone. Dogs do not play games with you- - except fetch (and they never laugh At how you throw.) Dogs do not have problems expressing affection in public. Dogs feel guilty when they've done something wrong. Dogs admit when they're jealous. Dogs are very direct about wanting to go out. You can train a dog. Dogs are easy to buy for. The worst social disease you can get from dogs is fleas. (OK, the really worst disease you can get from them is rabies, but there's a vaccine for it and you can kill the one that gives it to you). Dogs understand what "no" means. HOW DOGS AND MEN ARE THE SAME: Both take up too much space on the bed. Both have irrational fears about vacuum cleaning. Both mark their territory. Neither tells you what's bothering them. The smaller ones tend to be more nervous. Both have an inordinate fascination with women's crotches. Neither does any dishes. Both fart shamelessly. Neither of them notice when you get your hair cut. Both like dominance games. Both are suspicious of the postman. Neither understands what you see in cats. ************************************** WHAT I WANT IN A MAN - Original List 1. Handsome 2. Charming 3. Financially successful 4. A caring listener 5. Witty 6. In good shape 7. Dresses with style 8. Appreciates finer things 9. Full of thoughtful surprises 10. An imaginative, romantic lover. WHAT I WANT IN A MAN, Revised List (age 32) 1. Nice looking (prefer hair on his head) 2. Opens car doors, holds chairs 3. Has enough money for a nice dinner 4. Listens more than talks 5. Laughs at my jokes 6. Carries bags of groceries with ease 7. Owns at least one tie 8. Appreciates a good home-cooked meal 9. Remembers birthdays and anniversaries 10. Seeks romance at least once a week. WHAT I WANT IN A MAN, Revised List (age 42) 1. Not too ugly (bald head OK) 2. Doesn't drive off until I'm in the car 3. Works steady - splurges on dinners out occasionally 4. Nods head when I'm talking 5. Usually remembers punch lines of jokes 6. Is in good enough shape to rearrange the furniture 7. Wears a shirt that covers his stomach 8. Knows not to buy champagne with screw-top lids 9. Remembers to put the toilet seat down 10. Shaves most weekends. WHAT I WANT IN A MAN, Revised List (age 52) 1. Keeps hair in nose and ears trimmed 2. Doesn't belch or scratch in public 3. Doesn't borrow money too often 4. Doesn't nod off to sleep when I'm venting 5. Doesn't retell the same joke too many times 6. Is in good enough shape to get off couch on weekends 7. Usually wears matching socks and fresh underwear 8. Appreciates a good TV dinner 9. Remembers your name on occasion 10. Shaves some weekends. WHAT I WANT IN A MAN, Revised List (age 62) 1. Doesn't scare small children 2. Remembers where bathroom is 3. Doesn't require much money for upkeep 4. Only snores lightly when asleep 5. Remembers why he's laughing 6. Is in good enough shape to stand up by himself 7. Usually wears some clothes 8. Likes soft foods 9. Remembers where he left his teeth 10. Remembers that it's the weekend. WHAT I WANT IN A MAN, Revised List (age 72) 1. Breathing 2. Doesn't miss the toilet
Sunday, July 09, 2006ONE OF THOSE MOMENTS.........This is a copy of an email I sent to my dad. I was in the Magic Kingdom at the time & life was 'different'........you had to have a sense of humour to survive. I've just made myself a cuppa coffee, got a fag & thought I must write & tell you what I've just done............I've told myself it'll be a 'calming' process, because I know I'll laugh if I get it out of my system! We're going to Sue & Stan's tomorrow night, cos it's Stans birthday. I volunteered to make a big dish of lasagne & another dish called orange chicken. What it is (basically) is chicken breast fillets baked in a sauce, which is made up of orange juice, mayonnaise, chutney & tomato sauce. It's always turned out lovely...........well...........apart from the time when I forgot the recipe & used yogurt instead of mayo & Mike said "this is er....different!" Anyway, I'd got half a box of oranges in the fridge, so I thought I'd be clever & make my own orange juice, cos I've got a really fancy Kenwood chef thingy. I cut the oranges into quarters & thought I'd just put them in the liquidiser for a minute & then Bob's yer uncle, ta da! orange juice. WRONG. I tried every conceivable way imaginable in attaching the liquidiser, but the bastard thing wouldn't work. It's got an arrow on it (1) & a little dot mark (2) & you have to line them up in order for it to work. After many attempts, a few drops of sweat & more than enough swear words, the only way I could get the 1 & 2 to line up would be if I smashed the thing against the wall in a fit of frustration! Right.............Plan B, get out the instruction booklet, as one does when all else fails................ooooooops.........there were the instructions for the JUICE EXTRACTOR attachment! (I didn't even know I had one) So, I get it out & assemble it & bingo, it worked.................well, in theory it worked perfectly, but in practice it was useless, as I'd already cut the oranges into quarters & they needed to be cut into halves. I looked at this thing, which in essence is a high speed electronic version of one of those glass or plastic juice extractors & pictured what could possibly go down into the annals of Saudi history as "The Expat Housewife Juice Extractor Massacre". I had visions of mutilated fingers, chunks of flesh adorning the kitchen walls & pools of blood the likes of which are really not very common. I had a fag. I said 'fukkit' like a stuck record. I thought I would not let this bloody thing get the better of me. I tried again................................ I read further down the page of the instruction booklet. It informed me that if I attached the metal chopping blade to the centre spindle & set the speed on full for just a minute, I would achieve however much juice I required from sed oranges. I carefully followed the instructions, apart from the bit where I should have put all the fruit in before switching it on. I thought I'd be clever & see how the thing worked with just half a load of oranges. It was perfect, so I smiled, removed the little push down plunger thingy that goes into the bowl & proceeded to 'feed' in the remainder of the quartered oranges. I was hesitant about setting this gadget on full speed, cos even on minimum speed it's bloody fast, but I could see that I had to adjust the speed, so I cranked it up to full. Well mate, there aren't any flies on the wall to describe the picture, because they must've been either beaten to death by globs of partially liquidised orange, or scared to death by the bloody noise! I couldn't get the plunger thingy back in in time, so there were bits of bloody orange & splatters of juice coming out at a very high rate of knots..................and I mean very high rate of knots..............a wild guess would be about 220kmph by the sound of it! I swear I got a faint waft of burning rubber. I could have had an orgasm on the vibrations travelling throughout my body, just by holding the sodding thing in place, cos I promise you, I thought it was gonna take off! By this time I just thought 'bollocks' & fed in the remaining offending fruit. I stopped the machine, poured the contents into a strainer & then realised the jug beneath sed strainer wasn't big enough, as there was a lovely pool of freshly beaten to death orange juice on the worktop. *sigh* I'm going to finish my coffee & then go up to the shop & buy a 500ml carton of fresh orange juice. When I come back, I'm going to wash the kitchen walls & floor. Then I'm going to pack the mixer/mincer/shredder/liquidiser/you name it it does it machine into it's box & forget about it for a long, long time!
Saturday, July 08, 2006HOW IRONIC!!We were having our morning cuppee tea just now, when I heard a 'thud.......tinkle' sound. I thought 'I know that sound!' so I went to the lounge window & this is what we saw.....................  (check just behind the bus)
A Police car smacked up the back end of another vehicle, waiting at the robots (traffic lights). What a funny way to start the day! I wonder how the cop is going to explain his way out of this one? Sorry for the poor quality pics - the windows need cleaning!
Thursday, July 06, 2006SEE YOU NEXT TUESDAYHere follows an article entitled 'Bring on the c*** warriors' by Zoe Williams, taken from the Mail & Guardian Online Edition today. I never saw the Vagina Monologues, for all the obvious reasons that a person wouldn’t go and see it: a) any frisson at the title presupposes that you are either shocked by the word vagina, or you are gleeful at the idea of shocking the kind of person who might be, and I wouldn’t put myself in either of those groups; and b) I thought, rightly, that it might be all monologues, and all about vaginas. You need a bit of light and shade with these things. In Puppetry of the Penis, at least they did tricks. The show’s author, Eve Ensler, and her Vagina Warriors launched their Until the Violence Stops festival recently, with the aim, via a number of events and films and musical happenings, of “making New York the safest city in the world for women and girls”. It’s a tiny bit annoying — New York might not be the safest place on Earth, but if you were to hike your mind over the most misogynistic places in the world, those skyscrapers wouldn’t get a look in. Ensler, however, has done much more than that — she’s the will and the cash behind safe houses for women and girls in Africa, Iraq and Afghanistan. And when she discusses her achievements (I mean that in a totally neutral way), she starts here: “When I started this 10 years ago, no one said the word ‘vagina’. Let’s start there. Something has shifted in people. There’s a problem here, isn’t there, a problem which is not covered by the fact that she’s American and we’re not, that American feminism (now on its third wave) has different concerns, and some cool and unusual moves. It is fair to say that, wherever you are in the English-speaking world, the controversial word is not vagina, but c***. More to the point, Ensler knows this, which is why the talking point of the Vagina Monologues was never its use of the word “vagina”, but rather, the bit where it required of its audience that they all stood up and reclaimed the word “c***”. The reason nobody said vagina 10 years ago is the same that nobody says it now, apart from doctors and, at a pinch, art critics who have already said “pudenda” twice in one paragraph. People who hate women, or find us disgusting or terrifying, do not use “vagina” casually, as an insult. People who think of themselves as post-feminists, who delight in the shock of an apparently unsisterly sound emitting from them conversationally, do not say “vagina”. I got chatting to a guy the other day wearing a T-shirt that said “I heart vagina”, which, I think, says it all. Not that the T-shirt was funny, particularly, but if “vagina” were in anything approaching common usage, it would have been actively unfunny. It was weird because it was unusual, and funny because it was weird. And for all her many good works, it’s a disappointment that Ensler has wimped out here. Saying the word once doesn’t have much impact if you thereafter eschew it in favour of something more “responsible”. A correlative would be if the gay rights movement had started out reclaiming “queer”, and only claimed credit for reclaiming “homosexual”. Because it’s not explosively insulting, because it’s formal and a bit technical, because you can imagine it appearing on a legal document and not bawled across a bar in provocation, “homosexual” would have been a polite sort of coup. The mistake feminists make, when they object to the c-word but never approach it, and never use it, is to think that it will slip discreetly out of the language. Of course it won’t! It’s the rudest word we’ve got, in the entire language. It’s like thinking the secret of nuclear fission is just going to disappear. (This was a point not lost on Inga Muscio, who made a splash with her book C***: A Declaration of Independence.) But the Vagina Warriors claim to be up to a certain job, claim to be iconoclasts, then go home at 4.30. They’re the plumbers of the warrior world. Bring on the C*** Warriors. © Guardian Newspapers 2006 Now, I'd like to say my bit on the subject of the cnt-all-thats-missing-is-u word................... I have seen the Vagina monologues & all I can say was that it was 'different'. It certainly wasn't like any other show I'd seen. It had the shock factor & it was quite emotional in places. However, in my humble opinion, I honestly don't see the need for the use of the C word in an otherwise everyday newspaper article. I refuse to use the word - whether it be verbally or written - which is why I've used the ***, as I truly believe it is the most derogatory word there is. It holds connotations to violence, disgust, uselessness, filth, shame..........the list goes on. I was horrified the first time I heard my dad say it, on a construction site, some 30 plus years ago.....I never in my wildest dreams thought my dad would say such a word. My husband has never said it within earshot of me & my son knows not to say it whenever he's under my roof. I know a blinding joke about 'Little Johnny & his Train Set & the punchline uses the C word, but it's a rare thing for me to actually say it. Some might think I'm a prude, bit I can assure you I'm not. I just feel very strongly about the use of a very horrible 'swear' word in newspaper articles. What say you?
Tuesday, July 04, 2006F.A.Q'sFrequently Asked Questions By WAG's of Rugby Q. My man said the match doesn't kick off until 2:30. Why is he leaving for the pub now when it's only 12 midday? A. He has to get a seat for the "build up", which starts roughly two hours before kick off. The build up involves former players embarrassing themselves with a series of hilarious gaffes, wooden comment and bland observations. He finds this interesting. Also if he leaves early he'll get a good meal into his belly. And finally there won't be any legs in the way of the hoover - a nice bonus there for you. Q. My husband is watching the game at home. He said the match wouldn't kick off until 2:30. It's now 1pm and he's watching a chat show of some sort? A. Again, you are experiencing the build-up first hand. This is the "pre-match discussion", which is rather like a rugby tupperware party. If you look closely you will see former players you may actually recognise because they were once good looking men, but now require a piece of the table to be cut away at dinner time to accommodate them. Q. Also, he seems to be watching rugby from last year! A. This is an essential part of the build-up. Imagine it as rugby's answer to "Previously on Desperate Housewives..." You've seen it all before, but it bears repeated viewing. Q. My boyfriend is at the game and I am trying to get in contact with him. I've called a number of times and am worried about him. I'm getting read receipts but he won't return my texts! I'm worried about him! I've called his friends who are with him and they are not answering either! A. The mobile phone coverage at games is poor due to the mobile masts being overloaded. This is complicated - like electricity and cars and things - and will only confuse you. I'm sure he is trying to call you back but there is no coverage. Don't panic, I'm sure he or the emergency services will call immediately once the game concludes.Q. My husband has returned from the game and now wants to watch the tape of the game he has just been at! Why could he possibly want to do this? A. Have you ever watched your wedding video? But you were there. Why are you watching it again? Q. How long is the rugby going on for? My boyfriend seems to be watching another game now! A. The rugby will be on all day, with one match after another. The media corporations now dictate the schedule and there is nothing the lowly rugby fan can do about this. Most have petitioned to change this, but to no avail. It's a hot topic in rugby right now and we're hopeful the situation will be resolved soon. There might be highlights on later as well. Plus the sports news reports. Q. My husband is going to a game abroad and I was thinking that I might go too and we might go to the local Ikea (I looked it up and it's just around the corner) the morning of the game to get a few things? A. That's a great idea, but unfortunately Ikea always closes the weekend of a rugby international, no matter what the country. It's because eccentric Ikea founder Ingvar Kamprad despises rugby for some reason - this is another issue all rugby fans are keen to see resolved. Q. Who are the team wearing blue? A. That is either Italy or France. You are noticing them because they are tanned and continental, unlike their pasty-legged opponents who are the team your partner is supporting. Do not undermine his confidence by praising the opposition in any way. The person you are looking at most is probably Frederic Michalak (who is so disappointingly short, trust me). Q. Why did that happen / why did he do that / what is the referee saying / how are they able to do that / what score is it now / who is he / did my mother call earlier / when do you want to book that holiday? A. Sssshh!
Things that make men proud! Things that make blokes proud of themselves! Dedicated (mainly) to British men who are wussies, ner ner ner!!! 1. OPENING JARS - She's struggling. You take it from her hands, open it effortlessly and pretend she loosened it for you. She didn't. Jars are men's work. 2. CALLING SOMEONE 'SON' - Especially policeman but even saying it to kids makes you the man. 3. DOING A PROPER SLIDE TACKLE - Beckham free kicks - camp. A Stuart Pearce tackle is the pinnacle of the game, simultaneously winning the ball and crippling the man. Magic. 4. SHARPENING A PENCIL WITH A STANLEY KNIFE - Blunt, is it? Hand it here love. No, I don't need a sharpener, I've got a knife thanks! 5. GOING TO THE TIP - A manly act which combines driving, lifting and - as you thrillingly drop your rubbish into another huge pile of other rubbish - noisy destruction. 6. DRINKING UP - Specifically, rising from the table, slinging your coat on and downing two thirds of a pint in one fluid movement. Then nodding towards the door, saying, "Let's go" and striding out while everyone else struggles to catch up with you. You're hard. 7. HAVING A THIN BIT OF WOOD - in the shed, solely to stir paint with. 8. HAVING A HANGOVER AND THICK STUBBLE - When birds have been partying they just whinge. You on the other hand have physical evidence of your hardness, sprouting from your face. "Big night?" Grr, what does it look like. 9. NODDING AT COPPERS - A moment's eye contact is all it takes for you to share the unspoken bond. "We've not seen eye to eye in the past", it says, "but someone's got to keep the little scrotes in line". 10. USING POWER TOOLS - Slightly more powerful than you need or can safely handle. Pneumatic drilling while smoking a fag? Superb. 11. KICKING A FOOTY AGAINST A GARAGE DOOR - Clang-g-g-g-g-g-! Stick that Becks, I kick so hard I set off car alarms. 12. ARRIVING IN A PUB LATE - And everyone cheers you. It doesn't mean you're popular, it just means your mates are pissed.However, the rest of the pub doesn't know that. 13. NOT WATCHING YOUR WEIGHT - Fat is a feminist issue, apparently.Brilliant. Pass the pork scratchings. 14. CARVING THE ROAST - And saying "are you a leg or breast man?"to the blokes and "do you want stuffing?" to the women.Congratulations, you are now your dad. 15. WINKING - Turns women to putty. Doesn't it? 16. TEST SWINGING HAMMERS - Ideally, B&Q would have little changing rooms with mirrors so you could see how rugged you look with any DIY item. Until then, we'll make do with the aisles. 17. TAKING OUT £200 FROM A CASHPOINT - Okay, so its for paying the plumber later but with that much cash you feel like a mafia don. The only thing better is peeling notes off the roll later. 18. PHONE CALLS THAT LAST LESS THAN A MINUTE - Unlike birds, we get straight to the point. "Alright? Yep. Drink? Red lion? George, it is then. Seven. See ya." 19. PARALLEL PARKING - Bosh, straight in. First time. Can Schumacher do that? No, because his cars got no reverse gear which, technically, makes you the worlds best driver. 20. HAVING EARNED THAT PINT - Since the dawn of time, men have toiled in the fields in blistering heat. Why? So when it's over we can stand there in silence, surveying our work with one hand resting on the beer gut while the other nurses a foaming jug of ale. Aaaah. 21. KNOWING WHICH SCREWDRIVER IS WHICH - "A Phillips? For that? Are you mad?" 22. HAVING SOMETHING PROPERLY WRONG WITH YOU - Especially if you didn't make a fuss. "Why was I off, nothing much, just a brain haemorrhage". 23. TAKING A NEWSPAPER INTO THE LOO - A visual code that says that's right, I'm going in there for a huge, long man-sized poo.
The Washington Post's Mensa Invitational once again asked readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition. Here are the 2005 winners 1. Cashtration (n): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period. 2. Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with. 3. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly. 4. Bozone (n): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future. 5. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid. 6. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high. 7. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it. 8. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late. 9. Hipatitis: Terminal coolness. 10. Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.) 11. Karmageddon: It's like, when everybody is, like, sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's, like, a serious bummer. 12. Decafalon (n): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you. 13. Glibido: All talk and no action. 14. Dopeler effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly. 15. Arachnoleptic fit (n): The frantic dance you perform just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web. 16. Beelzebug (n): Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out. 17. Caterpallor (n): The colour you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating. 18. Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an asshole
Sunday, July 02, 2006I JUST DON'T GET ITI did my usual thing this morning, read the (online) Gulf News & then browsed through the blogs. In Secret Dubai's* entry today, there is an 'attack' from an anonymous commenter, because SD used the term 'Colombian drug baron'. Hmmm.....Colombia.....drugs......coffee.....kidnapping to fund drug running......coffee........er.......Colombia is hardly a throbbing metropolis for yer average 2.4 family holiday is it? Of course there are connotations that will relate to the country because of its drugs.....it has a reputation for such things if I'm not mistaken? On Underground Dubai's* blog today, there is an entry, with a specific warning about it's content & that it might offend those who are racially sensitive. The entry is merely the ever added to 'How Many People Does It Take To Change A Light Bulb?' joke. Where, oh where will this hyper sensitivity to racism end? I was born in England (we all have our cross to bear), in Kent, which is referred to as the 'Garden of England'. In other words, I'm from the 'south'. Hubs is from the 'north'. Our birth places don't make us a Southern Slapper or a Northern Git......we are what we are. North & South in the UK don't normally mix - there's a stigma about it which is no doubt centuries old. It hardly makes us racist though, when we take the piss out of our respective counties. I grew up in South Africa, where racism was the norm. Despite it being the Rainbow Nation of today, there's still a shit load of racism, but it's of a different kind. There is tribal racism. There is colour racism. There is cultural racism. Reverse Apartheid hasn't worked & in my opinion will never work, and I feel it's gonna take a few more generations for the dust to settle & people to accept that they are whatever colour they are & also what ethnicity they are. One thing we do have in South Africa - something that much of the World sadly lacks - is the ability to laugh & take the piss out of ourselves. We have a violent history & much tragedy, but by Christ, we can still have a good laugh, not only at each other, but with each other. The American comedian Dave Chappelle pokes fun at 'niggers' (shock horror - the dreaded N word!), Barry Hilton, a very well known South African comedian pokes fun at anyone, but is classic for his imitating S. African Lebanese people. British comedians seem to be too kak scared nowadays, for fear of offending anyone, but it is terribly fashionable if you're gay & funny. Political correctness & the over-sensitivity or fear of saying the 'wrong' thing really has gone far enough. If we were all the same, as in the same colour, same religion, same nationality, same sexual orientation, then the world really would be a bloody boring place. To those who take offense at unintentional generalisations, my message is simple: Get back in your box & lead your miserable existence. You don't know what you're missing. *I haven't found out how to do the link in my text thingy yet.....I wonder if that's because I'm a Dumb Blonde.............oooops.........hang on, I might just offend myself...........
Saturday, July 01, 2006NIPPITY-DO-DAHBefore I get to my story, I need to explain a few things. I could write forever on the subject of racism, especially having spent two thirds of my life in South Africa. However, I'm the type of person who will call a spade a spade & if you don't like it, well tough tits & you'll know not to read any further. If I'm perceived to be racist, then at least I'm honest about it & you won't find me bleating quietly about it behind closed doors. I take the piss out of all nationalities - including my own - regardless of skin colour. I'm of the opinion that there is good & bad in every person, regardless of where they come from, what religion they are or what their skin colour is. If you can handle that, then read on. A few years back, I joined Hubs on contract in Kenya. He was working for a major South African company, which was sub-contracted to a very large Japanese construction company. We lived in a 2 roomed wooden house, which in effect was a large garden shed. We had a spectacular view from the top of a small mountain, looking down over Lake Victoria. The project was a hydro-electric scheme on the Sondu river. We were part of a cast of very colourful characters - S'affies, Japanese, Nepalese, Filipino, Indian & Portugese. Some of the cast had nicknames (naturally) such as Tiger-san, Magic-san, Doris (the accountant), Nicknotthegreek, Septic Knuckles, Wakka & Flower. There were a few wives on site, but not many. The Japanese men who were there were nearly all in the country on single status. The terms of their contract only allowed them to go home once every two years. (I thought that alone would make them a bit sour.) There was one Japanese wife on the accommodation camp, whom I shall call Mrs Magic & she was shunned by the majority of her menfolk, because she had allowed herself to become 'Westernised', as she smoked & drank alcohol. I think the men got pissed off with her because she was an exeptionally good mah-jong player & many of them lost 'face' when they were beaten by a woman. The first 8-12mths of the contract went well..............too well for the Japanese. The S'affies got ahead of schedule, which in normal circumstances would be great, but the Japanese took great offense, because they'd been 'shown up'. They lost serious 'face' by the simple fact that 'our guys' didn't fart arse around - they got on with the job. So, we had a conflict of interests. Much paperwork was shuffled, many meetings were held, many phone calls were made & fuck all decisions were made, because (here's where I'll start to piss people off) Nips cannot make a decision by themselves. In their words, it is not possible.............arms are crossed in the fashion of an 'X' & the word "rejectoh" was heard from dawn 'til dusk. A decision cannot be made individually - it has to go down the chain of command & in our case, decisions had to be made by the powers that be in Japan. It would take weeks at a time to get simple decisions made, which was one of the reasons that they fell behind. So, they lost face by being shown up by the S'affies. They actually sabotaged the job. I won't go into detail, but I know it happened. Their sabotage left a very bitter taste & things weren't the same after that. There was a politically instigated riot on site, which made national newspaper headlines. The riot happened during the Christmas shutdown, when the majority of S'affies went home. When we all came back in the January, we were treated like lepers by the Nips. The whole camp attitude changed & there was an open feeling of antagonism directed towards 'our' guys. It wasn't nice & that's putting it mildly. No reasons were given for the antagonism, but the newly adopted 'air of superiority' & work will be done according to the Japanese 'way' became unbearable for many of the guys. Wives became unhappy, because their men were unhappy. Wheels were put in motion & one by one, the S'affies resigned to take up other jobs in other countries. One of the S'affies on the hydro-scheme was/is a chap called Cuzz. Hubs & Cuzz have worked together on several contracts in both West & East Africa. They're good friends & even better drinking buddies! Cuzz is very good at imitating accents. He spoke a native Zambian language before he learned to speak English. He's an incredibly loveable rogue & I could write a book on some of the antics he's got up to in the past! (He's got us banned from a certain golf club in Kenya, after imitating the Club chairman at a prize-giving event!) So, when the Japanese made work virtually impossible for Cuzz, he also decided to look elsewhere for another job. It didn't take long & he resigned. Mogwai-san (the Project Manager) was most upset & tried to pursuade Cuzz to stay on. Cuzz's reply was "rejectoh". The next month passed quickly & Cuzz prepared to make his exit. The Nips organised a farewell party for him, which he certainly didn't want, because he'd begun to loathe his 'colleagues'. On the night of his farewell party, Cuzz came down to our shack for a few toots, just to kind of get 'in the mood'. I just happened to have a small toke of some local Kenyan weed. I'd had it for months & think I was waiting for the right occasion to use it.* I asked Hubs & Cuzz if they fancied a spliff...........what the hell...........yeah, why not?! We shared one at home & then I took one up to the communal 'mess', which we again shared. We all got a fit of the giggles & Cuzz started singing "Take Me Home-oh Country Road-oh" in true Japanese style**...............I swear John Denver must've turned cartwheels in his grave! I somehow don't think the remaining Beatles would be impressed to know "Hey Jude-oh" has been remastered, Japanese style. Much Johnny Walker was consumed by everyone who attended Cuzz's farewell at the mess (excluding me of course) & with the spliff adding to the merriment, Cuzz was on a non-stop roll. He sang "Nippity-do-dah" (as opposed to Dippity-do-dah) & the Japanese guys joined in, too drunk to realise the irony of it. What started off as a really interesting construction project & one desperately needed by the Kenyan people, turned out to be an utter disaster, engulfed in corruption & political interferance. The project was to be in two Phases. We stayed for the (near) completion of Phase One & like the other guys, left for another country & another job. Phase One of the scheme was completed, but thanks to the corruption, Phase Two was shelved as funding can't be obtained. Kenya sits with a very large white elephant - a half completed Hydro-electric scheme. Sad, very sad. *As mentioned, I don't drink alcohol, but once in a blue moon, I'll have a spliff. I can't remember the last time I had one......it was probably Kenya. (Why am I explaining myself????) **(On karaoke nights, when the Nips had drunk enough, they'd stick the 'Country Road' song on & serenade themselves into a stupor.)
|
