Bizarrospam strikes again!

Marvellous. No, really.

They were to come in the afternoon and have dinner at night . To sit here and munch apples with Pat while Judy thumped and kneaded her bread was all he asked.
Sure and didnt I bring all of yes up on witches and are ye inny the worse av it? They were to come in the afternoon and have dinner at night . Im not wanting inny sawed-off girls at Silver Bush.
I used to be after knowing the McClenahans rale well years ago. I'd jump out of my skin if she looked cross-wise at me. Oh, oh, its the quare one she was and the foolish things she wud be saying. Its the quanes own cloth Im waving and sour enough her Majesty'll look if its not finished on time.
And if itwas left without any one to live in it it would break its heart. Dear God, please bring McGinty back to Jingle. Judy was of opinion that the dog had been stolen. Oh, oh, she isn't called a witch for nothing, that one, said Judy, when she had heard the whole tale.
And how lonesome the Long Lonely House looks. Sure now I'd an idea she'd know where McGinty was.
She didn't like it as well as her red one but itwas its turn and it mustnt be neglected. They would talk of politics and pigs and finally drift into family histories and community tales.
THAT was her and Sid's secret just as Happiness was hers and Jingles. You've always said there was a bit of a witch in you. I wish she didn't have to live so far away, said Jingle chokingly. They were large and grey and steady with a twinkle somewhere behind their steadiness.
Thewhite-washed walls of the old kitchen re-echoed to their laughter. The man turned and opened a mean little door at his right.
Judy was of opinion that the dog had been stolen. But hewent on and said the thing that spoiled it all.
Jingle put up a notice in the stores offering a reward of twenty-five cents.
Every car or buggy that drove up or down the road made Pat squirm with fear that it was Aunt Helen. Judy concocted and baked, and Cuddles tasted everything that came her way, including a frosty latch.
Dear God, please bring McGinty back to Jingle. It was lovely to sit there, so cosy and warm, with that eerie wind moaning without. And a shears-and-basin cut av hair niver improved inny one.
No, Judy might give her castor oil, as she had done the last time Pat had a cold.
Sid likes her, said Pat, a bit forlornly. And you havent got a Poets room or a round window, went on Pat still more tauntingly.
Her untidy hair was black too, coal-black, although she must be as old as Judy.
I dont think shes half as pretty, she said. How she hoped Aunt Helen wouldnt choose her! YOU look awful nice in that blue scarf, Pat, said Jingle admiringly. Jingle arrived speedily and so got his Christmas invitation by the skin of his teeth.

It's like having my own personal serialisation. I can't wait for the next episode. I'm hoping that Jingle and Pat finally get together in the barn, that McGinty arrives in one piece and that Judy wins a special prize for her baking at the WI Winter Fair.

cue end title music...

Bizarrospam

I just received this most amazing piece of spam in my work email inbox, not five minutes ago.

"Right now I need the sugar.
A dead cat with a cute name.
It seemed deliciously funny.
It was the gotta, wasnt it?
For the last time, he hoped.
Now Paul could see his eyes.
Ralph Dugan from Anne Dugan.
Ralph Dugan from Anne Dugan.
""Just three times, I swear.
"She shrugged, then laughed.
He would have some of those.
She put it in his numb hand.
Youve been working so hard.
He would have some of those.
Just one week and one bitch.
The pattern was inescapable.
"I dont know what you mean.
She put it in his numb hand.
It was the gotta, wasnt it?
"But would you want to stay?
Blood pattered on the floor.
"Right now I need the sugar.
At least strongly suspected.
For the last time, he hoped.
"I gotta know will she live.
He thought he would be okay.
She looks at the old people.

There was an attachment, but I'm certainly not daft enough to try opening it. Of course, the fact that I use a mac at work means that it was probably formatted for viewing on a pc. What a shame.

But even so, it's remarkable. I have absolutely no idea what it's trying to sell me. There's no mention of herbal viagra or penis enlargements or even an offer to put me in touch with single women in my area (for the last time, I really don't need any more of them cramping my style, OK?)

Sent by a 'Raymond Scott', which was a bit of a let down. Such a normal name, for such a weird email. Of course, if it had come from Rodolfo Thong (one of my all time favourite spam-names) I wouldn't even have raised an eyebrow.

Birthday fever!

Birthdays, love 'em or hate 'em, they're with us to stay. So, it's with great pleasure that I proclaim that my most recent birthday (last week) is without a doubt one of the best and most fun birthdays I have ever had.

Naturally, there would be no appreciation of the good bits without a bit of rubbish. This came in the form of work, i.e. I was at work and they appeared to be doing their best to annoy the crap out of me. Not only that, but it also appeared that not one person actually remembered that it was my birthday. Despite it being on the list. I've signed the cards and contributed to the collections for each and every one in the department. The only person who remembered was my boss. Who very kindly left me a bunch of flowers on my desk, so they were there when I arrived. And they are gorgeous - lovely white lilies with the most gorgeous fragrance. But still, it was a little bit upsetting and I did feel a little hurt.

However, that was just a minor blip. Everyone else more than made up for it. I think it's fair to say that the phrase 'embarrassment of riches' wouldn't go amiss here. Thursday (the day itself), I woke up to several cards and a present to open, the present being a Sanctuary Hand Care set. Gorgeous smellies so well chuffed there. I got to work and there was another card or two, plus two presents - firstly, the most gorgeous silver and amethyst earrings and a fab beaded bookmark, and of course, the flowers mentioned earlier. Then, mid-morning, I got another card (from my mum this time) and a bunch of flowers. These ones were lovely too - all purple and green. After lunch, yet more flowers. This time, a potted arrangement of white and corally-pink coloured flowers. I have no idea what they are, but they're lovely.

I ended up cabbing it home that night. No way was I leaving anything at work, damn them all to hell. And look, more cards on the mat when I arrived chez me.

The next day (the day of my planned celebration with friends and colleagues) I got to work and faffed about for most of the morning, interrupted only by a delivery of a birthday balloon. Balloon! I was absurdly cheery at this point, because I adhere to the Pooh philosophy on this subject: No-one can be uncheered with a ballooon. It's so true.

The afternoon wasn't nearly so busy as the morning, mainly due to not being able to log in to my computer. Quelle dommage, as they say in the posher suburbs of Rotherham. As you can tell, I was beside myself with frustration, I very nearly tutted.

Then came the celebrations. And oh my, what celebrations they were. The nicest folks were there (though a few notables were missing, they had already sent apologies etc..) and I was laden down with goodies. 4 BAGS FULL, to be precise. A signed book, a squishy cushion, scented candles, butter tablet (oh the sugary goodness), a handbag, gorgeous smellies from Molton Brown, an amethyst geode (sparkly!) and many more items besides. I'd already planned on cabbing it home that night, but it was a case of necessity rather than just being a lazy cow. Which makes a nice change, I must say.

I'm still in a bit of a state of shock, astonished at people's sheer generosity - not only did I get tons of giftage, I didn't have to buy a drink all night. And it does rather give the lie to my rather too well worn opinion of myself. Frankly, if all these people think I'm nice enough to shower with pressies and stuff, then I've got to be doing something right. Wow.

And now, the final word on this one. And one of the most talked about items on the groaning table of gifts. I'm now the proud owner of the Deluxe Librarian Action Figure. Truly a thing of wondrousness. And SO me. Look...and envy.

Yahoo! Mariah's at it again

I've just been to check my email, and blow me, if it isn't Mariah Carey in her skimpiest underwear (lingerie, if you prefer that kind of thing) in an advert on the side of the page. Apparently advertising her new perfume. (As an aside, I recently saw a tv advert for this and was convinced that the perfume was called Ham. Turns out it's just called 'M'. Pfft.)

Now I know that it's not possible to tailor these things to suit everyone's delicate sensibilities, but heavens above! All I wanted to do was read my emails, not stare in thinly disguised astonishment at a half-nekkid laydee.

Where will it all end, I ask myself? Pictures of a topless Tony Blair, exhorting us to vote Labour? Peter Stringfellow clad only in a Noddy posing pouch, advertising the dubious charms of his clubs? (Though, to be fair, I've seen worse than that in heat magazine)

It just doesn't bear thinking about, does it?

How It's Made
I've spent most of the morning watching this. It's like Stop, Look and Listen for grown-ups. It's really quite fascinating to discover the processes behind the manufacture of everyday objects, some of which are intriguingly complicated. Mind you, there are a couple of them that make for quite unsettling viewing. The segment on automated milking wasn't too bad, but the one covering battery chickens was just awful. Poor wee chickens.

MythBusters
I've not seen this yet today, but I try to see it whenever I can. It's an incredible show. One of the most entertaining science shows I've seen in a long time. (With the possible exception of Brainiac: Science Abuse - though that's more to do with Richard Hammond than anything else - to my eternal shame.) Mythbusters is one of those programmes that makes you think 'I'd really love to work on that.' If you get a chance, see it.

Other than that I've been indulging in watching the brilliant James Stewart. It's a double bill on ITV1 - Harvey followed by Destry Rides Again. I've seen them both several times before but hell, I could watch him reciting the phone directory and it would still be wonderful. In fact, all I need to make it an absolutely perfect Sunday is a showing of either The Philadelphia Story or It's A Wonderful Life.

Time for another post

Well, it's been a while hasn't it?

Mainly due to the fact that I can't really think of a huge amount to say these days. I'm hoping that it'll pass soon though.

And of course, I've had a week away at my mother's. Which was lovely. And no, that's not sarcasm you can detect. I really did enjoy myself. A whole week (and a bit) to sit back, relax and isolate myself from everything. Well, apart from crap telly and lots of books (okay, 4 of them).

I also managed a trip to the hairdresser, which is always entertaining. I don't know if it's a northern thing, but every person who was in there came out with 'big hair'. The hole in the ozone layer wasn't caused by pollution, I'm certain it's solely due to northern hairdressers and vast amounts of hairspray. Mine was solid when I left. I also had 'big hair' even though I have it cropped short. Of course, I then spent the next few hours desperately trying to tame the bouffant. Still it wasn't quite as amazing as the frankly spectacular mullet. Which was being streaked. The lady in question was probably in her late fifties (either that or she'd had a rough paper round) and was heading off later in the week to Ibiza. Scary.

That brings me on to the next thing. The conversations you're expected to have when you're sat there in the chair. I'm not that good with chatting to people I barely know. Small talk I can do, but this ends up being miniscule talk. Strangely though, the other ladies in the salon didn't seem to have any problem with it. Of course, once I got home I imagined the way that a conversation might go (had I not been more worried about what the hell they were doing to my hair):

'Are you going out anywhere special tonight?' 'Errr... no. It's a Wednesday. I'm in a small village and I have no car. I'm going to be spending a thrilling evening huddled over a TV dinner.'

'Going anywhere nice on your holidays?' 'This IS my holiday. Yes, I know, it's a real jet-set life I lead.'

'Been watching the football?' 'No. In fact I'd rather eat my own liver, and I'm a vegetarian.'

After all that, I think it was probably a good thing I didn't really say much.

Absolutely spot on.

I found this whilst searching for something similar but not (if you see what I mean)

words-of-sympathy.com

Support From Others
Author Unknown

Don’t tell me that you understand.
Don’t tell me that you know.
Don’t tell me that I will survive,
How I will surely grow.
Don’t come at me with answers
That can only come from me.
Don’t tell me how my grief will pass,
That I will soon be free.
Accept me in my ups and downs.
I need someone to share.
Just hold my hand and let me cry
And say, “My friend, I care.”

Oh how I wish I'd seen this when I needed it. It's one of those things that just makes you want to stand up and shout, 'YES! That's exactly how I feel.'

And at least now I know where to find it if I ever do need it again.