Archives for category: Humour

Slowly and surely we are sinking into the darkness of a British winter. This will be my first in two years, not that I’m boasting or anything.
Having spent last winter in New Zealand where it was summer I am really feeling the cold as the days shorten here in Plymouth. How I’m going to deal with things when the temperature actually gets down into single figures I have no idea, it’s entirely possible that I’ll try and hibernate until spring. Bears do it and have you ever seen an unhappy wild bear? Exactly.
I hear that this winter, so far, has been very mild compared to last year. I admit that although I’m not a massive fan of the cold I do rather enjoy snuggling in my nice thick duvet. Sure that undermines the undoubtedly manly demeanor that I project into the world but it’s a hit I’m willing to take. It would be great to see some crazy snow – that was the only bad thing about missing last winter!

A man cooking is a sight to behold, as is the mess left after. I’m not talking about chefs, I’m talking about normal men trying to cook proper food. You know from cook books and stuff.
I’ve always thought that following the instructions in a cook book is an easy task and was mystified by some people’s apparent inability to cook. But now I’ve had a flash of understanding. When a man uses a cook book there is a paradox created, all men generally want to get things done without reading an instruction manual.
In situations where a man has a natural and innate understanding of the task this isn’t such a big deal. Digging a hole, throwing a rock or taking things apart are all tasks that are well undertaken by a standard man. Cooking, cleaning and showing emotion however have typically remained the domain of women. I’m not being sexist, just stereotyping.
In an attempt to navigate this naturally occurring paradox men will try and get through by roughly following the recipe.
Case in point, I was cooking a lasagna. My parents have some very old scales – proper mechanical ones, weights on one side and ingredients on the other. Being largely ignorant of empirical weights (whereas feet and miles I don’t have a problem with) I occasionally quizzed my parents on conversion as they were doing the crossword. I had just come to the sauce making section of the recipe and was getting slightly flustered to try and get it done and in the oven so that everything would be ready together.
‘How much is 40g?’ I demanded
‘About one and a half ounces’ Replied my dad.
That is not a lot of weight, picking up the one ounce weight I was disgusted – this barely weighs anything. It certainly didn’t seem like enough weight to warrant getting the scales out of the cupboard and muddling about with them. But I did have to get roughly the right amount of butter to start the sauce.
In the end a resolve was reached with a rather ridiculous image of me with a one ounce weight in one hand a a spoon of butter in the other, literally weighing them up to guess how much to put in.
To this day I have no idea if I was even close, but I do know that I made a cracking cheese sauce and the lasagna was rather nice. Even if I only used half of the recommended amount of pasta. As is the case when any man tries ‘real’ cooking, there was a heck of a mess to clean up after. It was worth it in my opinion.

I found this Highly intellectual paper to be most amusing, although that may just reflect on me, a form of peer review is perhaps advised?

Don’t under any circumstances assume that this will become a weekly thing.
Firstly, many of you will be aware of the phenomenon called 419 scams. Email comes in offering lots of money to help x get out of or into y…. quite amusing, but what is more amusing is persuading your potential scammer to carve a replica commadore-64 out of wood and ship it to you. Lots of text but you can scan it pretty quickly and just look at the pictures to get a good idea of what’s going on.

Lastly, tickled my humour: Body illusions. Not the actual illusions themselves, they are quite interesting, but the fact that the second illusion requires:
1 friend
1 fairly realistic rubber hand or arm

Sadly I am lacking, and my realistic rubber hand is in my other jacket, ready to detach for unsuspecting hand shakers.

It is a topic of hot contention between the sexes: Could a man take the pain of child birth?
Putting aside the fact that men and women naturally have different response levels to pain, the only way to successfully determine the answer to this question is via a means of comparison.
If child birth were, for example, equally painful or more painful than pulling out a nose hair then I don’t think I could do it. I had an aesthetically displeasing long nose hair once, and with a pair of tweezers gave it an experimental tug.

Five minutes later I emerged from the foetal position and decided to tackle the problem with some carefully wielded nail scissors.

It started getting interesting today at about 2:30 this morning.
It was at this time that I was woken by the sound of my door opening, then closing. Looking up I saw a rather naked Dave padding into my room….

I took a rather British approach to this unexpected turn of events:
“What are you doing?”
“What, oh god sorry, er… ”
Confusion seemed complete. With a few more apologies and the accusation of being “a clever bastard” (?!) Dave left. Or at least tried to.

“I can’t get the door open”
“It’s a normal door”
“Yeah but it’s got no handle”…. He was attempting to open the door on the hinges side.
It was around about this time that things started to fall into place. Dave had been out drinking the night before. I had heard of situations where drunken sleepwalking occurs. I even experienced it myself (fortunately not naked) when I somehow got ‘lost’ in my final year house and stumbled into Andy’s room.
After a while Dave found the handle but was faced with another problem.
“It doesn’t work”
“Pissit it must be locked”
“It doesn’t lock it’s just a normal door”
After a bit more fumbing the poor guy realised his mistake and pulled the door open.

I couldn’t get to sleep for quite a while because I was laughing too hard.

I never really got the hang of baths and a long time ago I simply gave up on them. However I’ve been forced to re-address ‘bathing’ as our shower has broken.
One of the main problems I’ve had with baths in the past is that I don’t have the patience to let it fill up to a ‘reasonable’ level. So previous experiences have involved sitting in ankle deep water wondering what all the fuss is about. Yesterday I decided to get round this problem by leaving the bath running and doing a few chores and chatting to my housemates.

Things were already looking much better, the bath filled to a decent level in what seemed to be no time at all. Bubbles everywhere as I had the foresight to get some bubble bath on my way home from work.
I was determined that this bath was going to be different, and I would finally ‘get’ why so many people enjoy them.

I take you back to yesterday evenings events:
I climb in and sit down. The temperature is pleasent, but after about five seconds I can’t help but wonder ‘how does this get me clean?’ I try the usual washing actions but somehow it doesn’t seem like enough. I lie down and ponder for a while. This is quite relaxing and I begin to get an idea of the ‘point’ of baths.
I can’t relax for long though, there’s only one bathroom in the house and I have things to do. With a sigh I reach for the familiarity of the shower gel and wash.
Now I’m clean and the water is murky, I can’t wait to get out.

So after this experience; my opinion of baths?

Well I think they are more for relaxing if you want/have some time for yourself. If you want to get clean, use a shower.

Or buy a sponge.

I recently found an article on procrastination… Haven’t read it yet, keep putting it off….


For the last few days I’ve been using conditioner. Now before you jump to conclusions I must point out that I bought it by accident; you see (this is a tip for the guys really) if you find a bottle of hair type product in the supermarket which is standing on its head, it is not a brilliant idea to get the last dregs of shampoo and save that little bit of money.
Oh no. Apparently, as I was later informed by my housemate, up-ended bottles of hair care product are always conditioner.

And no it hasn’t made my hair silky smooth and luminous or any of the other adjectives that are associated with product comercials. So don’t be fooled!

For a long time now I’ve been involved, in the loosest sense of the word, with a photography forum started and hosted by Denyerec.
A topic that has come up in the past is the equipment carried on a standard photography mission. It soon became apparent and has been pointed out to me by the other members that I take too much stuff with me, a partial contributor to my lack of photo expiditions.
Here is a list of items usually found about my person when going out to take photos:

  • 1x D70 camera body
  • 1x 60mm Macro lens F2.8
  • 1x 18-70mm Zoom lens F3.8-4.8
  • 1x Ironing board
  • 1x Lens cloth
  • 1x Leaf blower (medium)
  • 1x compass
  • 1x Water mellon (ripe)
  • 1x Road atlas of southern France
  • 2x Kendal mint cake
  • 1x Tub of margarine
  • 1x Armadillo trap
  • 1x Eager scouts disguise kit (with moustache extras)

And the list goes on…
I think I need to put a bit more thought into what is actually required.