Working with Americans and with Germans, you realise just how rich and alive the English language is in the hands of its originating nation. My American colleagues were bowled over by “arse-baskets!” and had their own, somewhat watered-down, idea of what a “wanker” was. We sent a Brit over to work in Germany, and his colleagues have been wondering ever since what his Aunt has to do with proceedings, no matter how Giddy she may be.
I can see it now. “Is it true that all British towns are painted red? And the citizens have to give up their evenings to maintain them?”
I was so moved by patriotism at the thought of all this I thought I would sign up immediately to the Society for Creative Swearing. Unfortunately Google failed to show up any such society.
Chunty Bunts.
Somebody having coffee-machine-napped the coffee machine in a dawn raid, I spent the morning caffeine-deficient and resolved to rectify this at lunchtime. First instinct was to head around the ring-road to McArthur Glen “Designer Outlet” for a Pret a Manger, but I realised that it would not be a life-affirming experience and elected instead to go into town and say hello to the town centre and its enhanced air of belonging there, and me belonging in it.
Lucky for me, the contintental market was on! So I got to have Italian pizza from an Italian, and then Dutch poffertjes (mini pancakes). I am now well practiced at ordering a small portion with syrup. Unfortunately that is juat about all I can do in Dutch.
Driving back to the office I passed “PLshop - the Polish Delicatessen”. Expecting to find something exciting like fish sausage or pig’s eyelid fritters, I craned to look in the front window. It was stacked floor-to-ceiling with crates of beer!
And three bottles of J2O.
Today is the greeting-card festival called “Valentine’s Day” during which card manufacturers, florists and chocolatiers blackmail men into buying consumables to present to their partners. Hang on, thinks I, after being bombarded by the umpteenth florist advert online, do not men also participate in loving relationships? Is this not all a little one sided? Is this not all supporting the view (as, seemingly, does divorce law) that access to a woman’s poontang is all that she need bring to a relationship? (This may well be true in fact, but I am talking about principle, not fact here)
So, great corporate emotional extortionists, next year I want to see adverts targeted at women saying “show him your love by buying him the 8-channel futaba radio control system for his model airplane project” or “Haynes petrol mower maintenance manual with special valentines toolset”, or even “For valentines, why not shush about the splashes around the loo bowl just for once?”.
I should immediately point out that my own valentine is perfect in every way and even lets me play computer games.
Chek Lap Kok airport in Hong Kong has quite an exciting approach if you have a window seat. As you approach, you suddenly realise you are only a few meters up and all that’s below you is sea. At the last moment, someone slips a low-lying island underneath you with a runway on it and all is well.
Chek Lap Kok is the low-stress replacement for the earlier Kai Tak.
- You could Wave to the locals in their homes during your approach
- And the final approach was somewhat interesting too.
I can’t think why they changed it :-)
(links from http://www.airchive.com/ and http://www.alexisparkinn.com/. )
Generally I find the baying of scientists over the wooly thinking of religion quite tedious. It’s nice to see scientists devouring a ’scientist’ for once. Gillian McKeith, Ph.D (unaccredited), “freelance scientist” and enthusiastic promoter of science-style informational product inspired by controlled research, gets thoroughly dismembered in this Guardian article, e.g.
“Doubt has also been cast on the value of McKeith’s certified membership of the American Association of Nutritional Consultants, especially since Guardian journalist Ben Goldacre managed to buy the same membership online for his dead cat for $60…”