I introduce you to a special place

Regular readers will be quite aware by now that I am very much 'on top of' new media, social media etc etc, and am able to 'Tweet' and 'Re-Tweet' etc with the best of them. So far I have a lot of followers on Twitter: not as many as bloody Jonny B or lovely Anna but still quite a lot, i.e. c. 12 at the last count (which is exactly 9 more people than visit my blog every day).

Also, I have a Facebook Group thing that someone opened up for me - it is quite good and has exactly 41 members, which would be too many people to have to dinner at the same time if you lived in quite a small house, but not enough for a barn-dance to be described as "quite an evening".

But I digress. If you have a Facebook profile (and everyone does these days, even Monkeyfather and Monkeymother, although they only have 1 friend each and that is each other, my brother and I having chosen to exclude them from sight of us chugging beer, mooning, smoking 'joints' etc in our Facebook photosnaps) and you are a right-minded person, might I suggest that you go here and sign up to the mighty "Pictures of Sting looking like a twat" group, recommended by the delicious Allanah in yesterday's post? I think you will like it!

Pip pip!

NWM

I think about other things that are rubbish

Regular readers will by now be fully aware of the fact that I think homeopathy is rubbish. But what else do I think is rubbish? I will tell you!

Sting

As we all know, Sting is a gigantic spaz and Trudie is as well. I challenge you not to watch this video and shout WANKERS!!! at your computer, even if you do not swear ever and are a monk and/or a nun who has taken a vow of silence. (Of particular note: the bit where Captain Twat himself starts singing towards the end. I cannot comment on the fish.)

The only circumstances in which Sting is acceptable is when he is being covered by the legendary Jonny B, who is the best banjo player in England. Note: when I say 'covered' I do not mean it in the veterinary sense.

Windchimes

Unless you live in the middle of a field out of earshot of the rest of us, you should not be allowed to have windchimes. You may think the sound of windchimes jingling in the evening breeze is restful, but it disturbs my concentration - which could be potentially fatal in some circumstances, e.g. filling small clay pipe, steaming fez, etc.

Note: there is nothing worse than a hippy-type who bangs on about how much they love for e.g. the environment, nature, other people etc. They are the ones with dogs on strings, windchimes, curried lentil hotpot, cigarettes made out of twigs and smelly hair that disturb everyone else. Also, when you ask them for e.g. to stop smoking their cigarettes made out of twigs and doing clown-dancing and juggling in gigantic hats to an accompaniment of the lute and recorder on your front lawn, and when you ask them to stop recyling their babies' nappies in your recycling bin and/or living in your trees etc, and when you tell them that homeopathy doesn't work and crystals do not have energy, they say that 'not everything can be explained' and that you are a fascist!!!

Asking if we are "trying for a baby now we are married"

Are you the sort of person who strokes pregnant women's 'bumps' without asking? This is a truly ghastly question to ask (unless you are someone's friend). I have been asked it three times by relative strangers (e.g. hairdresser, person on shoot, person introduced to last weekend) in the last few weeks. So far, the best reply I have come up with is: "who can tell"?

Another rubbish thing is that many ghastly expressions - the ones that make your toes curl in horror - are invariably attached to babies, which is not fair on either the babies or their mothers. For e.g.:

1. "trying for a baby"
2. sudden loss of the article, e.g., "how is Baby?"
3. random and over-familiar use of the word "mum", e.g. "and how is Mum feeling today?"; "us mums like to get together!"; "Mums love Dettox!", "proud Mum to Horatio, 1 and Ebenezer, 5" etc. (I ask you: what is wrong with the word 'mother'?)
4. "little ones", "little xxx" (fill in name of baby)
5. "kiddies"
etc etc

NB: I like babies/children very much, and some of my favourite people are mothers, so if you are one of those humourless 'Mommy bloggers' looking for a fight, you will not get one here, no sirree!


Touching base

Acceptable in a sporting context; not acceptable, in any circumstances, in the workplace. I have said it before and I will say it again and again until it stops.

Ill-mannered dogs

Yesterday morning at 3.30am, I took great pleasure in leaning off my balcony and shout to my very stupid and very selfish downstairs neighbours, who were in their garden SHOUTING with their friends: "Excuse me. EXCUSE ME. Would you mind SHUTTING THE FUCK up?".

They shut up, and then at 7am they let their badly behaved, ill-trained dogs out into the garden, who then woke us up again with their relentless yapping as they do every morning at 7am. I dressed quickly, I went downstairs, I banged on their door, and I said many, many things, none of which I regret; indeed, this morning, they waited until 9.30 to let the dogs out. Result!

(I do not blame the dogs. The behaviour of dogs, like children, is entirely the result of their training. Monkeymother and Monkeyfather, for example, kept my brother and me in a box in the garden, letting us out only to perform highlights from the later works of Gilbert O'Sullivan for any visiting guests. Rewarded with Garibaldi biscuits and punished with Alan Parsons, we grew up to be - as anyone who knows us personally can attest - two perfectly-behaved, hugely accomplished, attractive adults, with more than our fair share of social and circus skills).

No doubt there is more to come.

Pip pip!


NWM

I have further evidence that homeopathy is bobbins

"It's a kind of magic!", says the homeopathic naturopath who, apparently, was a real doctor in France, but is not allowed to practice in Quebec. She is asking me many questions about for e.g. my favourite colour and whether I prefer salty things to sweet things, reading them out of a gigantic book that looks not unlike the 1987 edition of Linda Goodman's Love Signs.

I am there because someone I work with who I like very much said I should go. I did not realise the 'doctor' was a homeopath until it was too late to elegantly cancel the appointment, and so I decide to keep an open mind and see if there is something to take away from the experience other than leaflets about Reiki.

She is very nice and I very much enjoy talking to her but it is absolute bobbins, what she is saying. I am determined to be honest, so I sit back in my chair and say with my mouth: "I do not believe in homeopathy!".

She starts laughing. "It is only in North America that homeopathy is not recognised", she says, drawing on a piece of paper and rolling her eyes. "They have done many wonderful things in North America, but they are not always right." I do not press her to define 'recognised', and watch instead as she rummages through her book of Magic. Yes, I do prefer harmony to conflict, and no, I am not constipated.

She does not ask me why I do not believe in homeopathy, and starts to write my prescription which will, if I understand my fellow doctor-visitors correctly, cost in the region of $1,000,000. I have no idea what she is prescribing, and she does not explain, so I say something else. "I don't believe in homeopathy because there is no evidence that it works, beyond the placebo effect, and more to the point, it just doesn't make any sense. Water doesn't have a memory, for starters". She smiles and keeps writing.

"Drink lemon in the morning, with hot water", she says. "It will help with the acidity." "Is that a good idea?", I say. "Lemon juice gives me sort of ... heartburn. Burny acid. In my stomach. And it hurts. So how can it help with acidity?" It is at this point that the alleged doctor delivers the fact that proves to me, beyond all shadow of a doubt, that 'alternative medicine' should be banished.

"Don't worry. Lemon has a false acidity. In other words, it tastes acidic, but it is not. It will neutralise the acid in your stomach."

With that, she gives me a bill for $100, which will - I am astonished to tell you - be paid by my medical insurance. "But you will see I have put it down as a naturopathic consultation, not a homeopathic one; as I say, they do not believe in homeopathy in North America."

I come home and watch this and feel very much better.

I have evidence

"I do not believe you had a banjo player in a cardboard boat at your wedding!!!", said a detractor the other day. That person is a bloody idiot. We did, and here is a photograph of him to PROVE IT.

Sadly, he has a guitar in this photograph, so you will just have to believe me when I say he also has a banjo. (And no, we didn't fully understand what the cellophane thing in the background was either.)

He is called Philippe.

I make an appeal to any English people who meet Americans for the first time

If you are English and are going about your daily life (e.g. at a party, dancing at a disco, buying sausages, at a meeting of international colleages, a sales conference, a wife swapping party, in a hotel lobby or at a rodeo) and you are introduced to a North American, please, upon hearing them speak for the first time, grasp them by the hand, look them in the eye and scream into their confused faces:

"OH. MY. GOD. I LOVE YOUR ACCENT."

This will also work if you are speaking to them on the telephone, but make sure you let them speak for five minutes, demonstrate that you have not been listening to a word they have said, and THEN say: "I'm sorry, I wasn't listening to what you said, I was just listening to your accent."

You may also tell them their accent is 'awesome', 'cute' or 'cool'. Once you are feeling more confident, feel free to ask them to say things for you, e.g. orange squash, Buckingham Palace, marmalade, and discotheque.

** UPDATE **
Prompted by a comment below, may I also suggest that, after shouting "OH. MY. GOD. I LOVE YOUR ACCENT", you then take a deep breath and ask: "And where are you FROM?".