My salad dressing days

As if further evidence was needed…
October 24, 2006, 12:55 pm
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Like I said: frizzy hair is the new social disease. (I mean, if fairies aren’t allowed to have frizzy hair, what hope is there for the rest of us?)


Shock horror probe
October 23, 2006, 7:44 pm
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A public figure PASSES COMMENT.

The comment is considered IN CONTEXT.

The community about whom the comment is made gives a MEASURED RESPONSE.

The Daily Mail FAILS TO MAKE MENTION of the ‘incident‘.

(A nation YAWNS.)


Fear not: this is not about to become one of those blogs that subsists merely on daily postings of Youtube videos. Oh no. It’s much worse than that. This blog will pretend to be more, much more than that…and then post the occasional Youtube video (sometimes one immediately after the other).

If you liked the last one, you might like this one too:

Busy busy busy
October 19, 2006, 1:55 pm
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Warm stone or pale sienna? Warm stone or pale sienna? Warm stone or pale sienna? It’s just one world-rocking decision after another…

But on an unrelated note, watch this:

The truth will out
October 16, 2006, 9:37 pm
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[The Son (TS) in conversation with his grandfather.]

TS: That your hoover, grandad!

Grandad: Yes, it is. Do you have a hoover in your house?

TS: Yes, Daddy use the hoover.

Grandad: What about Mummy? Does Mummy use the hoover too?

TS: No, Mummy no know how to use hoover.


Monetary madness
October 13, 2006, 1:18 pm
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We’re preparing to buy a house which means that truly insane amounts of money are hurtling through cyberspace as I type.

I mean, it’s just a matter of days before the Dow Jones plummets into oblivion owing to the climate of uncertainty created by the movement of the sum of our life’s savings. So, SELL NOW, people. If nothing else, this gives you the opportunity to bark ‘sell! sell!’ into your mobile Gordon Gekko style.

[Somewhat tangentially, I recently had the experience of selling a few measly, employer-donated shares and it was a disappointingly far-from-cinematic moment. Me: I’d like to sell my shares! Bank: OK. Right, well I’m going to need your account and PIN numbers. Me: Oh. Bank: And if you could confirm your full address. Me: Right…]


This fact sees me obsessively checking my online bank accounts every, ooh, hour to make sure the money is still there. Because You Just Can’t Be Too Careful. Although now, knowing what you can see from Statcounter, I am worrying that the security people at my bank are starting to clock the unusual level of interest in my hitherto dormant savings account:

Security man #1: [leans back on swivel chair and turns screen to facilitate a better view for colleague] Get a load of this, Bert. Hasn’t logged on once since April 2004 and now she’s clicked on ‘statement request’ seventeen times already today. Strike you as suspicious at all?

Security man #2: [taking a large slurp of his grande mocha before exhaling pointedly] See what you’re saying there, Jimbo. Tell you what, I’ll put a tag on this account and we’ll keep an eye on it, yeah?

But really, this is one time when they can’t suggest ENOUGH security questions. When I’ve woken up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, I have begun to wonder whether it would be appropriate to call them to ask how their iris recognition technology is coming along.

Bank: So, you’d like to transfer [An Insane Amount Of Money] into your other account?

Me: That’s right.

Bank: OK, I need to run through some security questions with you. Can you give me letters three and four from your password? Your mother’s maiden name? Memorable place/date/haircut? That’s fine. Now, given as you are transferring [An Insane Amount Of Money], I do need to ring you back on the phone number we have on file. Sorry about that, but it is [An Insane Amount Of Money] and those are our rules.

Me: Oh no, that’s totally fine!

Bank: And I’m afraid I’ll need to go through the security questions again.

Me: Really, don’t worry!

I mean, there’s a lot more secret stuff I could tell my bank. Stuff I really wouldn’t want to share with another human being but that I’d be more than happy to impart to the people who lovingly look after my hard-earned cash. I mean, what’s an individual’s loss of privacy when it’s in the name of improved security?

**scratches chin and ponders occasions when that argument has been used before in recent times**

That said, I’d be a lot happier if I could just stash the cash in used fivers under my mattress.

It’s so wearing being Scottish
October 9, 2006, 5:49 pm
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having to hate the English.

having to pretend to know the words to ‘Flower of Scotland’.

having to sound sympathetic when visitors moan incessantly about the weather.

I was thinking it’d be more fun to be Irish but then Bono doesn’t seem to smile much. Well, ever, in fact.


Also from this series: why it’s no fun being British or northern European.