Recently these little posters have been popping up at traffic lights near where I live.
I am baffled by them. How does this work? Zumba “from £2”?
“Hello, yes, I’d like two pounds’ worth of zumba please”
Zumbadvert
Work in Progress
Back in August 2022 which was, according to the calendar, a whopping six years ago (it may be broken, I’m waiting for an appointment with the calendar technician), I said that I would draw Chris as a business balloon floating over Europe, ready to administer some kind of business thing to the people of abroad. They are his neighbours after all.
During my brief foray into insurance, I started a doodle inside my notebook and never finished it. It wasn’t a good doodle and it’s unfinished so really it’s a big pile of nothing. As this website thrives on big piles of nothing, however, I decided to display it for everyone to see.
Look at my big pile of nothing:
You will note the subtle brushstrokes around Chris’ balloon body as well as the gleeful look on his viso / volto. I thought it would be best to show him as a friendly business balloon rather than some kind of harbinger of doom, dropping acquisitions and harsh takeovers like they were Tic Tacs. The people of Europe, possibly the Netherlandians of the Netherlands given their close proximity to the UK and how I’ve drawn the coastline, are happy to see Chris, delighted even. What he’s bringing is right up their street and they can’t wait for him to unload the goods.
Don’t feel sorry for the man (?) whose body is missing; I will draw it at some point so that he can jump for joy and join in with the rest of the citizens. What does that blank, daunting landscape hold? Are there any houses in the Netherlands? Will they need to shoot him down or can Chris release the air himself and gently float into their lives? What exactly is Chris transporting all those miles?
There are too many questions so, please, refrain from asking any until the final masterpiece has been completed.
Minutes from a Meeting
Meeting held on the evening of Monday 6 February.
Those present: Kevin Hill, Christopher Marshall and Ian McIver.
It was decided that the British Mash Council (or BMC) would be formally appointed in lieu of the existence of one.
Kevin Hill (KH) decided that Chris Marshall (CM) would be in charge of historical preservation of mash, historical important of mash and everything associated with these. KH also decided that Ian McIver (IM) would be in charge of croquettes.
KH said that CM should go to London, given that he is the closest geographically, to ask for money from either the PM or the Treasury to fund the BMC. CM offered no resistance to this and seemed on board with the idea.
IM then announced that all the money should be “poured into croquettes”. General acceptance all round although KH specified that some of the budget should be kept back for other projects.
CM asked about whether recipes that incorporate mash but were not mash-centric should be focused on. KH decided that it would involve too many other governmental departments and thus only primary mash food should be championed. CM mentioned classic mash dishes such as ‘Bubble and Squeak’ and ‘Colcannon’. KH misheard the latter and asked what a dove cannon was.
CM asked about the museum that was being discussed and whether it should include statues of celebrities made out of mash. All members were in favour. In addition to Winston Churchill and his glorious beard of mash, the following other people were mentioned: Paddy Mashdown (CM), Richard Mashcroft (CM), Mashley Cole (IM), Mike Mashley (KH) and Jayne Middlemiss (IM). Costs and expenses not discussed. Also possible crossover event with Mash vs The Evil Dead (even though it was cancelled after three seasons).
Dove cannons are to be used at all mash events except ones in small rooms where firing doves into the walls will end with calamity and death.
Mashvertising is to be brought back in full force. The importance of mash needs to be re-introduced back into the homes of Great Britain after being in abeyance for so long. IM asked what the thoughts were of seminal kids’ programme ‘Bodger and Badger’, unanimous approval from all members. It was then motioned that they would be used in the mashvertising promotions… until it was discovered that the actor who played Bodger had sadly passed away in 2017. A new face will need to be sought and daughter of Bodger (“Bodge daught”) may be a prospect. To be discussed at a future meeting.
General mash talk occurred for several minutes.
Next meeting was agreed for Thursday 16 March.
Toilet attire
As you know, I spend between six and ten hours every day commuting to and from work, because I now live in France. Sitting on the same trains day in day out for that length of time means I have become closely acquainted with the interiors – the pattern on the seat upholstery, for example, and the strangely metallic sound of the chimes that indicate that the doors are opening. Lately, though, I’ve been thinking more and more about the toilet signs.
Every carriage has a few of these, pointing the over-hydrated traveller towards their nearest convenience. I am increasingly concerned by the picture on the sign.
We will leave aside, for now, the obvious issue over the size of the people you can see. Whatever pair of binoculars we are looking through is clearly in need of adjustment, because the left lens is showing us a baby that appears to be almost as tall as the two adults visible through the right lens.
No, what bothers me is this. The baby on the left is wearing a nappy – that much is clear. The nappy is white and the baby is pale grey. We can deduce from this that the baby is clothed, at the most basic level. On the right, we see two adults, who are white all over. But we know, from our recently concluded examination of the infant, that people in this world have grey skin, and there is no grey visible.
The two adults, therefore, are covered from head to toe, and what’s more they are apparently dressed in some horrendous all-over body suit made out of nappies.
This is very inappropriate clothing for travel on public transport – the face covering, for example, is bound to lead to problems if they are season ticket holders because the conductor will need to see their photo ID and match it to their appearance. It is also extremely inconvenient clothing for any toilet visit. They will need to unzip their terry towel gimp suit and somehow extricate themselves from it in order to make use of the facilities, all within the tiny cupboard-sized cubicle on a moving train. Nightmare.
The more time I spend on the train, the more it bothers me that the baby on this sign is one colour and the people are another. You may tell me that I’m overthinking it, and maybe I am. But spending this long on the same trains day in day out will do that to you. I’m just trying to survive in this world, and my healthy fear of grey people in jumpsuits made of nappies will keep me safe.
Sink “Saga”
I don’t have a saga.
I checked, all over in fact and there’s nothing there that constitutes as or has the brevity to be classed as anything close to a saga. With this in mind then I have injected a brief sojourn into annoyance with 100% pure drama to jushe… to shudje… to make it much more appealing.
I turned the tap on and the hot water wouldn’t go down the plughole. Nightmare. It wasn’t so long ago that I’d poured a bottle of something or other down there to clear the pipes and now the pipes weren’t playing ball. I needed to turn up the heat on this and I wasn’t going down without a fight. This fight, however, would have to wait until morning.
The next day I took a short trip over to the B&Q website to secure some supplies. All I wanted was a sink plunger and some more sink un-blocker, preferably a different make from the one I’d already used (you ain’t countin’ me out as a fool twice in the same year, sucker). The plunger I wanted, however, was an online purchase item only, delivery in five days; that ain’t helping anyone because this mother needed unblocking today. Nightmare. I’d have to go with my second choice. Wham, bosch, straight to the checkout and my click and collect would be ready in an hour.
Ten minutes later though my dog and bone was ringing off the hook from a local number. I pick it up and the more important of the two items, the plunger, is out of stock at the store I chose. Nightmare. Did I want the other thing? Nah pet, cancel the whole thing. Cancel it all. If I’m sorting this mother out then I guess I’m doing it on my own.
What about my £12.65 though? I had to wait a whole some hours before it arrived back in my bank account the same day. I don’t have time to waste, I’ve got a blocked sink here!
Time to use my initiative, which is dangerous at the desk of times. The only tool I had at my disposal which was likely to get through the holes in the plug strainer thing was a cable tie. With trepidation I lowered the tie down the hole not expecting anything to happen. Wham, bosch, suddenly the blockage was gone and the water drained away like a champ. Whatever was down there could not take the strain of my force and it was gone daddy gone. Wham.
I’d wasted a good 45 minutes on this whole affair and I am glad that it’s chuffing over. Nightmare.
Christmas haul
It was a good Christmas. Many lovely things were received. This is a totally sincere, non-cynical post to say thank you for the nice things I got.
Kev sent me Bob Mortimer’s new book, The Satsuma Complex, which looks brilliant. I’ve been wanting to read it and I really enjoyed his autobiography so this is great.
Continuing the Reeves and Mortimer theme, Ian sent me this Mulligan and O’Hare t-shirt, complete with the lyrics of my favourite Mulligan and O’Hare song. It’s brilliant.
Ian also sent me disc 2 of Carmen Electra’s “Fit to Strip” workout DVD, but I’m determined not to let it spoil my enjoyment of everything else.
Shenanigans
Before Christmas seems like an age away now. Do you remember what you were doing in December? No? Do you remember what you did yesterday? That’s a worry. You should get that checked out.
It was a fairly relaxed afternoon in the office and I was on my own as the time ticked towards the end of the day. Being chief morale officer in our team, a role I assigned to myself, I decided it would be best for some harmless mischief. I cast my gaze in the direction of the helpful list indicating the correct terms for the phonetic alphabet. Within a few minutes I had come up with my own and replaced it, expecting it to be mostly ignored as nobody ever seemed to use it.
When we returned after Christmas, I had largely forgotten what I had done… that is until my boss turned to me and asked if I was responsible.
“Responsible for what?” I asked, playing dumb. She had, apparently, noticed immediately and because of my reputation for zany behaviour I was clearly the culprit. Luckily due to it being silly, nothing was said about it. Everyone had a laugh. Ha ha!
“You almost threw me because you don’t have a daughter and this one here mentions one,” she said.
This was the sticking point.
This was the focus of most people’s questions and not the fact that I had made up three new words, referenced an album by Steps and a TV programme with Jack Whitehall.
Damp saga
You’ve heard of tap saga. Now prepare yourself for… Damp Saga. The story of one man’s quest to conquer the Forces of Dampness that threaten to overthrow his way of life, turning everything slightly moist and, upon close inspection, slightly mouldy.
I am currently battling dampness on four war-torn fronts.
From the north, the paint on the bathroom windowframe and windowsill has worn away to a point where wood is visible. This is because, in their infinite wisdom, previous owners of the house positioned the bath under the window, so when you have a shower you spray the whole window area with water.
From above, the new loft insulation I fitted last year is keeping the house warm, but it’s also keeping the loft damp, with condensation forming to such a degree that in very cold weather it effectively rains in there. Everything we store in the loft is now under tarpaulins, except for the things we didn’t cover in time, which are ruined. I have fitted new vents to the roof to get some fresh air through it and eliminate this unwelcome indoor microclimate.
From below, the very high water table in this area (the whole housing estate might be built in what is technically a lake) means that in anything less than drought conditions the lawn is often under an inch of water. My neighbour has an elaborate plan to resolve this by digging big holes, creating new soakaway pits and laying pipes, though I can’t help feeling that his plan will only succeed if they are big enough to absorb all the rain in this area of Hampshire.
And from the west, water running downhill through a series of back gardens is now making its way through the wall of the garage, where it turns out the woodwork starts below ground level. This means that, now the monsoon season has arrived in the loft, we have nowhere to store anything that we wish to keep dry. A big damp patch is creeping across the floor and fixing it is going to involve removing a whole line of garden fence and digging up part of next door’s garden. I have made a half baked effort to deal with the symptoms using wood preserver and cutting holes in the garage wall to allow air in. I do not feel hopeful about this.
Unlike #tapsaga, there is no satisfying ending to this where, after a hundred frustrating steps, everything works out. This saga is just an ongoing list of damp situations. Thankfully the inside of my car is still dry, most of the time, so I have decided to live there instead. Please send towels and talcum powder.