I nearly died

I know it's not the normal fare, but this nearly had me changing my undergarments because I laughed so much...

Slave labour

Well, I've just got back from even more concreting at The Parents. The only thing that stopped me from looking straight was my pouting while standing hands-on-hips next to the cement mixer.

I might have flicked my hair a little bit in the wind, too...

Anyway, a leisurely stroll through Sainsbury's on the way home, oooohhh-ing at the bed linen and aaaah-ing at the hair & skin products brought me 'round a bit. A long hot bath later should just about purge my system of any remaining desires to burp and scratch my arse...

Actually, one of the good things about all this manliness is the workout I'm getting. I might not even need to go swimming next week, which may be a good thing as I've heard that mermaid is back.

Monsters

You'll be pleased to know that we've fully recovered from last night's little incident.

I always forget that, while the four minds each take an equal burden of the ravages of alcohol, there's only the one body. Hence the stumbling, lack of hand/eye coordination, swearing and breath - sorry SID.

Now. Apologies to those whose Blogs I careered incoherantly through on the way home. At least I didn't vomit in them, eh?

One good thing has come from all this. I'll be safe from Monsters Under The Bed for a good while. They can't tolerate alcohol, you see. It reacts with their [insert poisonous chemical here*] for blood, causing them to explode. Which explains why only children - at least those not brought up on some vile estate - and the teetotal are plagued by the hideous creatures. I think I'd imbibed so much wine last night that they'll be gone for a good long while to ensure every trace of alcohol has left my system.

Right. Off to do something menial and soothing. Like the shopping list...



* I'm not a bloody chemist!

MirrorMe

Blast!

I went to work this morning with a massive spot on my forehead and totally un-awesome hair. Also*, my hips looked huge in my new trousers.

Why didn't I do something about about these personal disasters after seeing myself in the mirror before I left the house?

Because MirrorMe got to the concealer and hair gel first. And also**, my wardrobe. I thought it was me looking good-to-go, not Me.

Git!

I would go into the mirror to give Me a piece of our minds, but I always feel like I'm missing something important once I'm there.

Like a third dimension.

Also***, I keep banging into things because they're all the wrong way around. So now, I'll have to set my alarm five minutes earlier for tomorrow morning, to beat Me to the bathroom.




Bugger.



* For the grammatically correct out there, I know sentences shouldn't start with 'Also'. I'm just doing it to annoy you.
** I KNOW!
*** Still doing it for the annoyance factor.

Horseplay

Well, that watery tart* was still loitering in my bath when I got home from the Host's parents last night. I just wanted to languish in hot, bubbly, soothing water to relieve my aching muscles. You see, they were having a giant shed delivered and needed a concrete base to put it on, so I'd been carting bags of cement about, shovelling sand & gravel into the mixer and being a general dogsbody, really. I couldn't use magic, because The Parents don't know their only son is harbouring a time-travelling witch. So, that only left brute force, hence the aching muscles.

Anyway, despite my pleading and cajoling, Fishface wouldn't remove herself to allow me my ablutions. I'd tried magic the day before but, like other deities, she remained stubbornly resistant. The only option left was physical force, and as I wasn't in the mood to wrestle some damp daughter of Zeus**, I'd have to get someone else to do it. And I couldn't think of anyone more physical than Svaathor da Vjis.

We don't normally like to talk about the origins of the da Vjis's. Suffice it to say that as a race of (mostly) centaurs, there must have been some 'unpleasantness' somewhere along the line.
Most point to Golthord, the Horse King born back in 1074. It was rumoured that he was exceptionally well endowed and that the only way he could be 'accommodated' was in the stables. The birth of Golraad, the first centaur, in 1093, leant credence to the rumours that Golthord was doing more than just seeing to the horses.
In fact, rumour also has it that Golthord had an accomplice, Iomjir, with an even more impressive asset. Well, scientifically speaking, there'd have to have been at least one other to account for the genetic diversity.

Today, because of the decrease of interspecies breeding over the centuries, the centaurs range from almost human-looking, to almost horse-looking. There are very few traditional centaurs around anymore. So much so that the only one I regularly have any contact*** with is Svaathor da Vjis, an enormous carthorse type with more muscles than Hulk in a particularly bad mood.

Anyway, I gave him a call - he loves technology and always carries the latest in mobile (cell, to you Americans) phone technology with him - and he came right round. He was in the area doing some study about the decrease of native flora & fauna in the Norfolk Broads.

After he'd squeezed his not inconsiderable bulk up my back passage and into the bathroom, I left him to it. What followed was a piercing scream, the clank of the bathroom window opening, some splashing and thrashing, a deep grunt, a surprised "Oh!" and what sounded like someone being slapped around the face with a wet haddock.

I didn't like to ask what had happened after he'd backed out of the bathroom, so I just made him a cup of Darjeeling and studiously tried to ignore the fish scales on his thick neck as we chatted about the otter population in Norfolk.

All that was left to do when Svaathor had gone was to clear up the mess.

And I'm still clearing it up now!

Bugger.



* Thank you, Monty Python's The Holy Grail.
** Mostly because of her nakedness. Ick!
*** No, not that kind of contact.

A - Z of (un)Life

Yay! A meme! And this time, from none other than Tazzy & Piggy. Who'd've thought it, eh? Anyway (Piggy's favourite word), both myself and the Host will be completing this.


A - available / single? Available? For what? Available. Did you hear that, Connor?

B - best friend? I'm very lucky to have several.

C - Cookie, fave cookie? In this country, we call them biscuits! Sainsbury's Taste The Difference half chocolate coated ginger. Yum!

D - drink of choice? Newborn baby blood. Sauvignon blanc from the Marlborough region of New Zealand.

E - essential item you use everyday? My wand! Contact lenses.

F - favourite colour? Blood red or piercing-eye blue.

G - gummi bears or worms? Neither. The medium of gummi is repulsive!

H - hometown? Norwich.

I - indulgence? Breathing. Lounging in the bath for an hour or so, with wine, cake and a book to keep me company.

J - January or February? February, because all the Christmas crap is over, the wretched sales have finished and the bank balance is looking healthier.

K - kids & their names? What? I don't keep count. And I certainly don't want to know their names - It'd be like eating a pet. It means: Do you have any, not how many have you eaten? Oh. Heaven forbid! Needless to say, I don't have any of the little bleeders either.

L - life is incomplete without? Living. George Shit! I mean, Connor.

M - marriage date? Whose? I'm going to three in as many months this year. May: A school friend's. June: My sister, Inexcuseable's. July: A college friend's. Obviously not getting married myself. I don't think I will even when I do finally manage to bag a man. See, Connor? You won't be tied down!

N - number of siblings? Two. Indescribable and Inexcuseable. And they both are!

O - orange or apple? Apple, definitely. The skin around orange segments is too chewey. So much so that it makes me vomit.

P - phobias / fears? Whiney blonde girls from Kansas with buckets of water. Insects with long stick-like legs, such as crane fly and harvestman spiders.

Q - favourite quote? Ooh, probably something from Parenthood. Maybe Frank's "Your mouth used up all the power" in response to his wife Marilyn's question of "What happened?" after the lights cut out mid way through her long list of things that Grandma needs. Or, Susan exclaiming "She's not a bomb!" after her husband Nathan says their daughter Patty's not ready to be socially activated.

No. No. I've changed my mind. I think it'll have to be either "Tickets? Money? Passport?" as bellowed by Edina from Ab Fab. Or Jennifer Saunders answering "They don't do anything" after Dawn French asks her what a particular celebrity does.

I've changed my mind again. I'm going to go with: "Marge? You know how bashful I am. I can't even say titmouse without giggling like a schoolgirl. Hee hee hee. Heee heee hee!" And if you don't know who said that, then shame on you!

R - reason to smile? Seeing someone fall over.

S - season? Autumn. Because it's still warm, relatively dry and windy.

T - tag 4 to 5 People? The Coven of Hags. There, that's four all at once. And Qenny.

U - unknown fact about me? I once was 'intimate' with the wrong twin.

V - vegetable you don't like? Cauliflower. And sprouts. Blechh!

W - worst habit? Being nice. Procrastination.

X - X-ray you've had? My left wrist, after getting pushed in a thorn bush in the first year of high school, then swelling up having been speared by the biggest thorn in the world.

Y - your favourite food? I don't have a particular favourite food, although I'm currently into marzipan.

Z - zodiac sign? Aries. For both of us, actually.

Right. No more of these for a little while.

Moist bint

Drat! There's a naiad in my bath.

You should see the bathroom. It looks like a tidal wave has blasted through. There's water dripping from the ceiling and down the walls, and the floor is awash. My towels are soaked and she's used all my shampoo, too!

I've tried to entice her out with a handful of stickleback heads, but she's not having any of it.

The only option I've got left is to replace the washer in the cold tap to stop the dripping. You see, the essence of a naiad is bound to her spring. If a naiad's body of water dries, she dies. Although I'm hoping that she'll dive down the plughole and live to possess someone else's plumbing before she carks it. I don't want a reputation as a minor deity killer, after all.

Now all I've got to do is get close enough to replace the washer. There's far too much naked damp female flesh there for my liking...

BANG!

I only tapped her on the shoulder to ask if she wanted a coffee and she spontaneously combusted.

She could've just said 'No, thanks'.


Silly cow always has to be centre of attention...

Forgetful

Do you know, I got half way to work this morning when I had the feeling that I'd forgotten something. I patted my pockets: Yep. Keys and swipe card were accounted for. They were the items I mostly disremembered.* I opened my bag: Lunch? Check. Mug? Check. Phone? Check. Wallet? Check. Address book? Check. Hmmmmm... I thought.
I took a furtive glance around before discreetly checking for an open fly. Nope. That was done up. What had I forgotten?
Then I raised my hand to my head: Hair? Solidly styled against the ravages of the wind. Phewwww! At least I'd remembered to do my hair.

And then it struck me.

Oh no! I'd left IDV behind!

We'd been messing around with this Demon Box and Witchface had gone in to torment it after it wouldn't accept certain symbols in a... Let's just say a recipe we are working on.
Anyway, while Witchface fought with the HTML demons, I went to the bathroom to fix my hair and eyebrows, picked up my bag on the way out, and left the house, forgetting the battle being fought in the 'Box.

Needless to say, by the time I'd got back and we'd reincorporated, IDV wasn't amused. I keep getting scolded in these things '< - >'!



* I've been in a bit of a Dannii Minogue groove lately.

Dead or Alive?

Dead/alive status is determined by Lifeforce - No, not the film starring Patsy. Human beings are alive because they have Lifeforce, or Lf to give it its grammatical equation.*
Most people function between 0.9 and 1.2 Lf. Take me, the Host, for example. Before Witchface dropped in I was bobbing along quite happily at 1.2 Lf. It would have been more but SubConscious was too lazy to get past 0.2 Lf.

Anyway, IDV's arrival pushed us up to 3.7 Lf. However, after our Amalgamation, our Lf rating went up to 4.2! I attribute this to SubConscious pulling his finger out, what with IDV's SubConscious as competition. I think the two of them competed for SubC - I'm bored of writing the full word - dominance (as did I for Conscious dominance) which pushed our overall rating up by 0.5 Lf.

The SubC's have now levelled out at about 0.5 Lf's each, which is quite a high rating. After all, a SubC can never be 1.0 on the scale because then they'd be a Conscious, pushing the existing Conscious down a few points into the realms of SubC. More often than not, this isn't a pleasant experience because the ascending SubC doesn't get time to clean before achieving C - OK, I'm bored of writing Conscious now, too - , so the descending C is exposed to all those things that it has spent a lifetime keeping under wraps: skidding over on all those compressed little balls of bitterness, anger and spite; blundering headlong into those hideously embarrassing memories that were thought to have been forgotten; falling into the deep pools of loneliness.
Of course, there have been the odd occasions when the SubC is attractive** enough to ensnare its own SubC. A SubSubC, if you will. I don't know if Melanie Williams is involved in any part of it, but one can never tell. I certainly haven't seen her corporeal form around for some time...

I digress. Sometimes these SubSubC's take on a housekeeping role, locking things away, sweeping up dusty memories, taking Shake'n'Vac to the meta-carpets, that sort of thing. When this happens, a second decimal place is added to the equation/formula.***
I think I had a SubSubC once but it couldn't cope with SubC's attitude and mess so it took evening classes in etiquette and became a certified Autopolite. Although, at times, I think it should actually be certified...

Now, speaking of Autopilot (nearly), don't confuse it with SubC, or even SubSubC. Autopilot is more like a pet dog. It understands basic commands and can function on it's own. Although, if left switched on for any considerable length of time. it will revert to it's feral form; the Couch Potato - [a different analogy is needed here but SubC is too lazy to do any research].

Shit. I've gone off on one again. Christ only knows where this was going?

Perhaps I'll create a graph or something to show various Lf ratings?

Perhaps?


* I don't know what it's really called - I'm not a bloody mathematician.
** As in a force, like gravity. Not nice eyes, cute bum, that kind of thing.
*** I already told you I'm not a bloody mathematician!

My fishcake tastes funny...

As I don't know whether it's off or not, I'm going to eat it anyway. If I don't post for a while it's because I've died of food poisoning. But don't worry, I'll come and haunt your Blogs in between hanging around Connor Trinneer's place...

Midnight Juggernaut

I've never really given much thought to Optimus Prime.

Until now:

Cwwwooowwwooooaaaaarrrrhhh! a la Kenneth Connor from the Carry on Films (especially Carry On Cruising).

Actually, Jim Dale was quite the fox in Carry On Doctor...

Actually, who's your favourite wrinkly (or dead) old British actor? I think we can safely assume Dinah's is Patsy! Although, to make it fair, you've all got to pick someone who's been in at least one Carry On film.


I was going to entitle this post Well! I thought somebody in this house ought to be having sex - At least with something that doesn't require batteries! from Parenthood, but then realised that yesterday's find on MTVDance was far more suitable. When were you going to tell us about them, eh Miss T? I'm speaking to you too Dora and Spike!

Divergence

... I fell off the back of Broom and \


_____________________________\ woke with a start. And a sore shin after smashing it into the seatback of the person in front.
"Sorry. Sorry" I mumbled to the old man, who's seat I had injured myself on, as he peered around to see what was going on.
"Hummmph" he replied with a look on his face suggesting that young people today didn't have any manners.
Stupid old goat!

I brought my leg up to my chest to rub my shin while 'ooh'ing and 'aww'ing, all the while wondering why humans have that falling sensation when on the verge of consciousness. That frantic jerk convulsing through our body, fueled by adrenaline. Perhaps, in someplace or in sometime, we are falling? It's like that feeling of someone walking over your grave, too, as the saying goes. That involuntary shudder for no apparent reason, closely followed by the contracting diaphragm and articulating tongue and jaw that enable one to say "Ooh. Someone just walked over my grave."

What I want to know is how do we know that's what caused it? Where did that saying originate from?

I know of only two ways to test the theory and neither are very conclusive:

1. Take someone in a coma, so far gone that they're almost dead. Bury them in a special coffin outfitted with medical scanners, cameras and other recording devices. Have someone walk over the grave a few times to see if there's any 'shudder response' from the subject.
As you can see, there are some obstacles to overcome, and problems with the whole accuracy scenario for this one. Not so many as with the second example, though.

2. At a freshly filled grave, walk over it, oh I don't know, say, twenty times. Then, go back in time to the moment the interred was born and count how many times he or she shudders, in the manner described above, throughout his or her entire life!
Actually, if you've got a time machine, you'll probably have access to a micro-camera disguised as a fly, or other insect, that can go back in time to do the recording for you. After all, it'll save you from getting old and probably dying - having been shot for stalking the subject - before you've observed and recorded his or her whole life.
Then, it's simply a matter of checking that the amount of shudders matches the amount of times the grave was walked over. Easy. Although, can you imagine having to write up your experiment for your old fossil of a science teacher?
"List all your apparatus" he'd drone from his 'private store cupboard', pipe smoke billowing out in great clouds, almost asphixiating the entire class. You'd lick the end of your pencil - trying to ignore Fulcher as he turned on one of the gas taps, leaned over and inhaled - before writing in your exercise book:
Apparatus
1 (one) time machine
1 (one) fresh cadaver
1 (one) Fly-cam™
2 (two) grave diggers - not Neville Parks though, as he looked at me funny once when I went to me Granny's grave...
etc etc

Of course, a control experiment would have to be carried out in both cases as well. One with no 'grave walking' to see if there are any shudders even without it...

Hang on. I've dropped my pen into the aisle. I don't want the stewardess running over it with her trolley. It's a good pen, is that!
Leaning over the seat arm, I stretch out for my pen. Suddenly, a bit of turbulence makes me lose balance. My hand snaps back and \


___________________________________________________\ grabs the shaft of Broom. With my heart in my mouth and a bit of small intestine in my oesophogus, I haul myself back on board.

Ooh. That's the last time I try and save an errant French Fancy from plummeting to a softly splattered cakey doom, no matter how much I like them (especially the yellow ones)!




As you may have noticed, I haven't put any links in this post as there's nothing to really link to. However, you will get Snaps if you can find the post (or posts) that the falling cake could link to.
Double snaps if you can name the author, book and character(s) that this post's plot device was inspired by.
There are also a couple of tenuous allusions to two British comedy shows that, if you correctly name them, will also get you Snaps. Good luck!

P.S. The book has not been mentioned in this Blog.