I scream, you scream, we all scream

For ice cream. We share our office with a whole bunch of customer service types. I just went to make a coffee to see every single one of them stuffing their cakeholes with ice creams. Then, in the middle of writing this jealous post, certain elite members of the IT department were offered the leftovers. Yummmmmmmm!

Birthdays and anniversaries

Happy Birthday to my very lovely niece Joanne who is ten years old tomorrow. Lots of love Joanne, we'll be thinking of you. And to my good old friend and former flatmate Mr Robin Michael Rees of Sydney, Australia who is (and has been for a while) a cantankerous old curmudgeon. We still love you Robin, we just don't want to go drinking with you.

This Sunday is our seventh wedding anniversary. My mum is down for the weekend to take care of Sam so old Wossername and I are on the lash. Tonight is a crawl around the fleshpots of Guildford with some friends, tomorrow is a trip to a nice romantic country hotel in Oxfordshire for luxury, good food, wine, and a bit of quality grown up time. Oh, and a hoon around the countryside on a big motorbike! Brace yourself Cathy, I promise to go fast!

The ministry of silly runs

If you fancy a bit of light, Monty Pythonesque, entertainment don't spend a fortune on trips to the movies. Just hang around any railway station at rush hour and watch people running for their trains whilst trying not to move their upper body, jiggle their breasty dumplings, separate their knees, lose all the crap from their pockets, spill their coffee, drop their bags, or mess their hair up. I've never seen such a bunch of dorky, inelegant, uncoordinated, pigeon toed, knock kneed, knackered, gimpy, ungainly looking spanners. We're supposed to be the dominant species on the planet, we didn't get there by being able to run that's for sure. Go on, give it a try, it's much better than telly. And tonight on pointless channel 967 we have, live from Kings Cross Station, "Britains most extreme worst stupid runners". Press red now for an interactive guide on how to run like a chicken and miss your train whilst being laughed at by complete strangers.

Best week ever

For CNPS that is. Earlier in the week I found myself searching for a 45 and I knew that there was a 46 in the company car park. Bagged them both and then spotted a 48 parked in the council car park in Esher. I got a 47 on the way home on Wednesday immediately followed by a different 48, I didn’t need the one in Esher. This morning walking from the station I turned the corner and there was a 49 followed a couple of minutes later by a 50. Unsure of the rules on new style plates I provisionally bagged 51, 52, and 53 pending a check of the CNPS Rules page, they’re OK. Now, I know where there’s a 56 and 57 so I need 54 and 55 today. What a fulfilling and worthwhile pastime it’s turned out to be, at this rate I’ll be getting my 999 in about nineteen years. Something to look forward to eh?

This train terminates at 1962

My mum has just travelled by train from Huddersfield to Haslemere. She was running late and Cathy was waiting for her at the station. I tried to call her mobile to find out where she was. No answer, I tried again, no answer etc. etc. She just rang from Cathy's mobile to let me know that she had arrived safely. I mentioned that I had tried to call her several times. "Oh, I wondered what that noise was." she replied.

Big Brother is cleaning your trousers

Me: Hello, two pairs of trousers. Any chance that they can be ready for tomorrow?
Lady: Certainly. Name?
Me: Blah blah blah.
Lady: Phone Number?
Me: Blah blah blah.
Lady: Post Code?
Me: Blah blah blah.
Computer: Post code not found.
Lady: Doesn't exist.
Me: Does!
Lady: Is it new?
Me: 100 years old.
Lady: I'll try it again.
Computer: Post code not found.
Lady: Are you sure it exists.
Me: Yup, woke up there this morning.
Lady: Oh!
Me: I just want my trousers cleaned, do I need an ID card or something? Are you on the look out for a crack squad of Al Qaieda suicide trouser bombers? Why do you need my post code?
Lady: In case we lose them.
Me: You seem to have lost my house, what chance do my trousers stand?

There's always a bigger dog

The car at the front of the queue at the traffic lights broke down. The driver of the second car became irate, blaring his horn, yelling, shaking his fist etc. He got out to "discuss" the issue. He was big, he was mean, he had no neck, he had tattoos on his face, he was a very scary, angry man. I though that the driver of he first car was about to "get a slap": he climbed out of his car and blotted out the sun. He was bigger, meaner, had a shorter, wider neck neck, more tattoos on his face, he was scarier and he was not even slightly angry. No blows were exchanged but maybe it will teach Mr Angry what we all learned at school: there's always someone bigger and stronger than you so play nice, you twat!

Overweight?

Well, here’s the answer. The George Forman lean mean fat reducing plate set.

via Limbic Nutrition

User interface design

You're filling in a dialogue box to book a hotel room online. Do you need a pull down list for number of nights or number of people? Of course you don't, you're a grown up, you can key in an integer without having to select one from a list ranging from 1 to 999. You're not likely to enter "B" or "Arse" or "63,360" are you?

Great Yorkshire Inventions # 6,412

The boomerang, otherwise known as a stick.

In at the deep end

Sam starts "proper" swimming lessons today. Cathy and I have taken him to the pool loads of times, he loves it. Today is different, today is "little tadpoles" where he gets a "one on one" with an instructor: Mummy has to stay away from the pool. Daddy is very happy to be at work today.