FoolishPeople

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Untitled page from 'Foundling' - Lili Spain

© Lili Spain 2007

God is Back

Hang Up

The last thing you need if you suffer from Mental Health problems

Assembly

Ronald McHummer

This month McDonald's is giving away toy Hummers — 42 million of them, in eight models and colors — with every Happy Meal or Mighty Kids Meal. That's right: The fast-food chain that helped make our kids the fattest on Earth is now selling future car buyers on the fun of driving a supersized, smog-spewing, gas-guzzling SUV originally built for the military. Use the Ronald McHummer Sign-O-Matic™ to tell everyone what you think of this misguided marriage of two icons of American excess.

Afraid of Sex & Love

Cthulego

The Dreamer has awoken...

The Formidable Mr Freeman.

Damn great news No2.

Richard has agreed to write for the blog! As many of you are already fully aware, this is a mind packed full of detail, knowledge and  tremendous insight. What can I say, we are honoured to have the CFZ's Zoological Director taking his turn at the wheel.

His first piece will be up tomorrow morning, I've read it, and it's fucking great, like a fountain of fanboy knowledge and opinion combined with the same sense of humour that has people rolling off of their seats during his talks.

Welcome to the blog Rich. ;o)

X Marks The Spot.

 

It's a bit late I know, it's taken me this long to recover from the lunatic coach driver on the journey back home, we do drive on the left here right? I really don't know what his whole game plan was, maybe 'kill all passengers in horrific traffic accident; go home early' ???

Well anyway here it is, the full run down of shenanigans from the Weird Weekend 2005. First of all I'd just like to reiterate John's thoughts; Richard Freeman is God. It would be difficult to express in words exactly how welcome we felt in Exeter, but you can bet your bottom dollar that this was largely due to Rich. It's been a difficult year for the CFZ in more ways than one but they have powered through this years WW like complete troopers and I don’t think I've ever seen such a caring, close-nit, and co-supportive group my whole life. Truly something to aspire to.

Now, setting aside Rich's often more-surreal-than-wombat-doing-the-electric-boogaloo introductions, the speakers where something to be marveled at. Sadly I think we missed all of Friday’s speakers as Dr Bleach was due on at 10pm and I had duties to perform, let alone beer to drink.

We seemed to go down very well with most people, and had some lovely feedback;
'Very enjoyable and unique'
'Amazing!'
'A fantastic idea...'
'Loved it, can't wait to see a show!'
'Thank the otherside!...Literature, film and art combined in one beautifully, ugly performance...'
'Wonderful, highlight of the weekend....The limbless child gift will remain a perfect reminder of an unexpected treat.'
'Who the hell would sit through that for half an hour, at least last time they had naked women.'

The last one however, was not left for us in the comments book, but cowardly scathed unknowingly outside our open window. But to be perfectly honest given the nature of this man, I think I would have run for the hills had he liked the performance. A man who is too ignorant to stay until the end of any of the lectures to applaud, and leave halfway through Dr Bleaches talk because when he heckled he didn't like the answer he got back.

Pussy.

But we here at FP are used to being loathed, in fact I don’t think I would sleep quite as easily at night not having offended/disturbed somebody's sensibilities.

Saturday arrived and we saw Jeremy Harte: Fairy Traditions, (missed Dr Simon Sherwood on Black Dog Apparitions sadly) David Farrant: The Highgate Vampire, Nick Redfern: What Really Happened at Roswell and The Great Richard Freeman: Mongolia 2005.

You may well recognise the name of David Farrant but be fumbling around in the back of your minds to ascertain from where. The founder of The British Psychic and Occult Society and, amongst a plethora of other things, he led the original investigation into the Highgate Vampire in the 70's. A perpetually intriguing man his interview was only too short for my liking. But we may well be able to remedy some of that here.... hmmmm.

Nick Redfern, another highlight, gave a fantastic talk and insight into his research of the Roswell incident, I don’t want to go giving too much away but it truly was a treat to hear him speak of his findings.

Sunday, ahh the day of rest: also known as day of the were tiger. Jon Hare (or Orrin, as he is affectionately known) gave a stunning debut talk about his experiences in Sumatra, totally captured my imagination. The day was rounded off with the effervesant Jon Downes sharing more of his visionary plans for the CFZ.

But the biggest sway of the pendulum came in the form of an artist displaying his wondrous works. The art of Sam Shearon bought a collision of minds; he, Kato and Mike. Three fucking brilliant-minded and gifted people introduced to us at the most unexpected of moments, all open to the concept of Dark Nights of the Soul, fully understanding of our stinking little brains and they had vodka at their hotel too. Now if ever I where to stumble across kindred souls...

I'll post more up here shortly, but the potential of DNOTS has multiplied three-fold.

Police Hunt Man In Nappy.

A man dressed only in a nappy who has approached a number of women on Teesside is being hunted by police.

The man has hidden in bushes in Eaglescliffe before moving towards the women and asking: "Are there any baby changing facilities in the area?"

Cleveland Police said they are becoming increasingly concerned about the man's behaviour after several incidents in the past few months.
The startled woman said no and walked off, leaving the man still running around dressed in his nappy.

The Mighty Boosh

If your not watching the genius comedy of The Mighty Boosh on BBC Three. Why? This has to be the most original comedy the UK has produced in decades. Pure genius. On par and certainly more surreal than Monty Python.  If you live in the UK you can watch every episode of series two online.

 

I wont try and describe the show. Instead I offer below the synopsis to episode three of series two - Nanageddon.

Vince has invited two goth girls he met at a club to the flat. He did this under the drunken pretence that he's some kind of warlock - which obviously he isn't - so in order to maintain the charade, he persuades Howard to 'goth up' and borrows Naboo's book of Black Magic. It's pretty dark. He summons a demon to impress the girls, but all they get is a little old lady... or so it first appears.        

In fact, it is a demon, 'Nanatoo', the evilest demon known to man. Of course, the worst thing that could happen is that Nantoo gets hold of Naboo's book of Black Magic - which of course she does, enabling her to multiply and bring about Nanageddon. And no-one wants that.        

Especially not the Board of Shamen, who suspend Naboo's shamanistic powers as punishment for his carelessness until he can reclaim the book. Instead, he gets drunk. Doubting Naboo's abilities, Saboo and Tony Harrison from the Board of Shaman are also dispatched to find the book, but they're no better: Tony has a gift for strategy, but no body - and even his gift for strategy is drawn into question.        

So who's left to sort it all out? Drunken, powerless Naboo? Two bickering shamen? No, once again it's all down to Vince 'Obsidian Blackbird McNight' Noir and Howard 'Howard Moon' Moon.

Weird Weekend; Just a Reminder...

Introducing Hooters the Clown

These are the first pictures sent into us from FoolishPeople member and current field operative Lois Tucker. These two pictures show Lois as Hooter's the Clown from the X rated Brand X Show Vegasm currently at The Edinburgh Fringe Festival.

The show sounds fantastic. How can it be bad when you have a sex clown called Hooters. The show is at the Pleasance Courtyard August 3rd - 29th at 10:40pm. Expect further reports and pictures from Lois at the festival in the coming weeks.

Lo-Fi FP 5

Lo-Fi FP 5: Dionee Warwicks Cosmic Peep Hole

Lo-Fi FP 4

Lo-Fi FP 4: Women in Spacesuits

Lo-Fi FP 3

Lo-Fi FP 3: Bush you crazy freek

Lo-Fi FP 2

Lo-Fi FP 2 A Cat Teasing

Lo-Fi FP 1

FP is going Lo-Fi today. No heavy thinking, no deep and meaninful shit. Just stuff to make you smile. Because if you feel like I feel you need some fun. Lo-Fi FP 1 Norse God getting high.

Tools To Aid Your Magick: Your next familiar.

 

Tools To Aid Your Magick: No need for servitors when you have the...

 

Tools To Aid Your Magick: The All Powerful Automatic Hypnotizing Record

One Minute Story

Two: Fairground (Fiction)

My idea to get Jenny Smith to notice me was to go on any ride at the recently arrived fun fair on the Common.  I hoped to prove to queen Jenny what a man I was. Er, I mean am.

I got my chance with the Condor, a half deep blue, half rust coloured tower which loomed over me with vindictive malace, and a gentle rocking.  Very wisely, no one else wanted to go with Jenny so, through clenched teeth and with a palpatating heart, I climbed into a car with her.  There we were, squeezed into the half moon shaped car, swinging gently as other foolish people (no pun intended) climbed into other cars. 

I attempted to hide my nerves by cracking dry jokes, firstly situational: was that a bolt I saw coming undone, where WAS my pocket socket set when I needed it; Could I borow a pen so I could sign my will - the dog could have my CD collection, and secondly through one liners - where do you take a sick stallion?  Horse-pital!  Awful. I cringed even before I finished.  My sense of humour remained on the ground, along with my dignity and my stomach.

Up we went, all our so-called friends standing giggling below us.  Then not only were we going up, we started to go round horizontally.  I felt like a damp sock clinging to a long hub of a washing machine.  Up and up, round and round. 

I offered myself counselling during the ride, suggesting that it would not last for ever, it was only a few minutes of my life.  But an intrusive thought plagued me - this could be the LAST few minutes of my life.  Distract yourself, I thought.  Feel the fear and do it anyway, as they say.  Now would be a good time to ask Jenny out, my counselling self suggested. 

When we reached the top of the ride, my anxiety went off the scale and I enjoyed the brief euphoria of a partial nervous breakdown.  My chance was now. "So what's a lovely girl like you doing at a height like this?".  She laughed at least.  God I hated pity laughs.

But I did ask her out, just as we started our descent to the craved security of firm ground.  She looked briefly down at the ground, then looked me in the eye and smiled.  "Sounds great," she grinned, "but I've just started seeing Dave".

Not Dave, please.  Dave had the social decorum of an empty baked bean tin.  "Oh great," I smiled, "that's really nice.  He's a top bloke."

It's amazing how good my aim was.  The old conker in my pocket landed on Dave's head with a delicious crack which I could hear from half way down from the sky.  Oops a daisy, I thought.

What every little girl wants

Really had to keep a tight grip on my wallet and leave the shop immediately...

Trying not to not think about going back with £1.25 in my sweaty palm...

The ultimate in Ecards

I believe this Birthday Ecard was made in all seriousness

Birthday Alarm/Lord's Blessings

It's not just me is it..?

Unearthly Defence

Unearthly defence
By: Mukul Sharma
April 23, 2005

Has Michael Jackson been acquitted? If so, of what?

After all the accusations and counteraccusations flying to and fro between the defence and prosecution fighting the ex-fading pop star’s celebrity sex molestation case, only one piece of evidence has apparently stood the test of the taxpayer’s time and courtroom drama: that of a former Jackson maid who described unusual sightings made by her at Neverland in the early 1990s.

The woman, who worked for Jackson for about five years beginning around 1986 testified that after the first such “sighting” on the grounds of Neverland in 1989 she saw what looked like a small boy’s “underwear” lying outside a shower stall near the swimming pool.

“At first I thought they were regular underwear that boys wear under their pants but on closer examination I began to have serious doubts because they were bright neon red in colour,” she testified under oath.

“Is it possible,” asked Jackson’s attorney Thomas A Mesereau Jr during cross-examination, “that they were not really regular underwear that’s worn under clothes? I mean could they be the kind of underwear that’s worn over one’s clothes? You know the kind Superman wears outside his uniform, which, may I remind you, are also bright neon red?”

At this point prosecution objected to the line of questioning saying that going by the size of the underwear that had been admitted as people’s exhibit #432, they could not have been Superman’s.

However, Superior Court Judge Rodney S Melville overruled the objection after the defence showed him comic books of Superman when he was a teenager called Superboy.

At that time, the defence contended, Superman also wore the same kind of underwear over his uniform, though it was of a smaller size...

(click for more...)

House Share

My late grandmother apparently used to say to my mum "we may not go out much, but we see life".  I think I can safely say that I have continued this family motto after many years of sharing houses / student accommodation with a wide variety of people.  You certainly learn things about life... what was it Robbie Williams sung - something like "teaches me things I don't need to know".

My first experience of being thrust into the outside world was when I first became a student, and left behind the crammed bedroom of childhood (the same room that had caught fire and nearly killed the house... it was hard to feel the same about the room after that).  So I left home and went to live in Northampton.  The house was miles from the uni (and other students), and it was seriously cold.  After only a couple of weeks I decided to move out.  The same week I made this decision, I found out why it was cold, when half of the roof caved in, the boiler exploded.  D'Oh!  And then the guy's fiance put a note through the door saying she had met someone else.  He took my news well really.

I moved into a house with three BEd (teaching) students, who it seemed did not have time for washing-up, or hoovering.  My room was downstairs, in what would have been the dining room.  The conversion must have taken minutes, as it was still equipped with hanging light, display cabinet and chairs.  And though someone had obviously tried hard, a table for eight can never be as comfortable to sleep on as, say, a bed...

But it my time as a student in York which particulary stands out.  There, in student halls, I had my life threatened by the brother of one of my house "mates", who had been blamed for the loss of fire fighting equipment following a ridiculously out-of-hand party that had occurred in my absence.  The brother told me one night he "knew people" who would "come and teach me not to use his brother as a scapegoat".  I decided I did not wish to live there anymore, as psychopathic brothers don't make good conversation over breakfast.  The day after I left, the brother said to me "well, you see, nothing can stand in the way of my brother getting a First".  Well, fair enough, if you put it like that.  And if he didn't get a First? Would brother kill the examiners too, I wondered.

Following that, I moved hastily into another student flat, which was much more friendly.  And the varying sexual orientation of the girls who lived there taught me some things which would make my mum blush.

Now I live in a relatively sedate house, with a couple of others.  The ritual walking up and down the stairs and who-can-find-the-most-creakey floorboards at 3.30am sometimes leaves me a little purturbed, but you can't have everything.  I certainly felt part of the local neighbourhood when the child of the family next door greeted me with "Oi baldie!".  Least he's not going to have me killed.... I hope. 

Time to come back!

After weeks (probably months) of being unable to post regularly, I have finally summoned up five minutes to add an entry.  I will try to write more regularly, honest, John!

I am intending that future entries will be a mixture of observational poetry, odd stories and general comments upon life, the universe and chocolate.

Firstly may I offer my congratulations to Ken and Dierdre. You know who I mean. I can't make the ceremony, sadly, but I will be thinking of them. Neither of them is really "my kind of people", I wouldn't go on holiday with them, but I'm sure they're pretty decent behind the big glasses and Val Doonican jumpers.

I saw a huge bumble bee on the ground just now, struggling for life in the cold air.  It's the simple things sometimes that make you think.  Hey, that sounds like the beginning of a poem....

Didn't see this one coming

Was sent this today:

It's been circulating for a while apparently, but I reckoned it was still worth posting...  hehe...

My Little Borg Pony

Found via BoingBoing

Spongebob Gay?

Monkey Dust

Managed to catch an episode of the third series of Monkey Dust on BBC3 during a menstrual dip, the kind that even your dad notices and then duly stays well away.

It kind of fitted in very well with the 'world is fucked' mentality I had worked myself into, partly because of the satirical humour but mainly because of it's grim reflection of our society.

One of the characters is  Paedo-finder General (pictured), the representation of the tabloid readership's take on justice. This week he was working in a photo developing shop where he found a picture of a naked baby belonging to the week old's proud mother, having found her guilty he proceeded to decapitate....don't look for the punchline, it may be animated but these guys are certainly not going to lighten the blow for you.

This is the sharp end of the honesty stick, which kind of hurts.

Ugly Babies

You know you have all seen them, the babies that dont make you smile but instead make you recoil in a manner that suggests somebody just squirted a load of caustic acid in your face, which admittedly for me is most but maybe that's just because I'd rather gouge out my pancreas with a spoon then have a child.

Swensonfunnies.com has a very comprehensive selection of clip art that seems to apply.

Funny

Download starwars.gif

Be 18 or over folks!!

Found at Dead Journal

Gone in 180 seconds

Hi all. Well the cast and crew profiles are being published on the blog think and fast, and to date no mail from litigation lawyers, which is great... I summise this means the suited gentry have failed to track me down yet, no-one is reading their own profile, or I have left out just the right bits to preserve relations with the beautiful people whilst hopefully leaving the FP readership thirsty for more...

I thought it would be nice to add another one of my little tales of life, partly to share the joy (?), partly as a kind of therapy for myself; for this, please excuse my self indulgence.

Someone out there may have read my previous post 'Valentine Day Blues' a few months ago; about mid-February would be a reasonable estimate! I think I said I would try speed dating, and this I have now done. It only took me the 6 months to buy some 'decent' clothes - I requested the assistance of my younger female housemate and a mutual friend to help me choose, for I knew if I went shopping on my own I would get bored and frustrated and end up with some DVDs or books instead...

Anyway, it's a strange experience moving round a set of tables (boys move, girls stay) talking to someone for three minutes (the time it takes to boil a runny egg). For the first few conversations (there were 21 women, 29 men) it's easy to get trapped into asking: "So what do you do? Where do you live? Have you done this before?" etc. If both parties try to answer these questions, whilst diligently waiting for the other person to finish what they are saying, the three minutes are gone several times over. So you gotta be quick and succinct. If any blokes are out there are thinking of "speeding" here is a summary of my reflections after one occasion. This would also apply to girls, seeking boys.

At the start, establish eye contact and say Hello before you sit down, and before the bell sounds. When moving to the next girl, wait for previous guy to leave (a polite "bye then" may help this stage be resolved). Sit down. Smile (friendly, not a just-got-out-the-looney-bin kind of grimace or a Homer Simpson-esque drool). "Hi there, how are you?" Wait for reply, respond as appropriate but leave out rambling sentences. Tell her your name (it may already be on a name badge which is stuck awkwardly on your nice new shirt, but this reinforces it for her). Describe your employment / work very briefly (to explain my job, for example, takes quite a while), ask some more questions, (trying to avoiding the obvious ones above) such as "what's in your CD player?", "where would your perfect date be?", "who makes you laugh?". Listen to the answer. Include a genuine compliment (men can be quite bad at this, for fear of seeming purvey or giving the impression women are seen as a piece of meat - though of course some men DO think this!) Then - if there's time, and frankly there probably isn't going to be - highlight your good characteristics, with confidence but modesty - "I'm a sex bomb" I'm guessing is not what women want to hear - though maybe it depends upon WHO says it! Finally ask about her interests (having some knowledge about any of these would be good as mutual interests are nice. Don't be too keen though, a girl needs her own space, and a mutual interest in David Beckham may give out the wrong signals! Finally tell her things you enjoy / like / have an leisure interest in / spend your time doing / have done only once in the past but are including now because it makes you sound more interesting / something unusual but not bizarre. I tried to include the fact I liked vegetarian cooking if I liked the idea of cooking the girl in question a meal, and to find out if she was veggie too.

Bell rings, three minutes are up. Finish your sentence, hold out your hand to gently shake hers, thank her for the chat, holding eye contact and then smile. Simple!

All very well, but at the end of the day she is either gonna fancy you or she ain't.

These are my reflections, and are not necessarily what I actually DID! It's interesting to notice that some people have very good social skills, and are friendly and will chat to someone easily whether they fancy them or not, whereas some look bored before you even sit down and look over your shoulder whilst you are talking. That's fine, least you know!

Sadly, it seems some people think speed dating is a sad past time, full of losers and dateless freaks. This is not so, many of the girls (and guys during break) I spoke to were lovely. And many of the people who have met someone this way are lovely, so there! Busy single gorgeous people unite and have fun!

PS. I would like to acknowledge the importance of today's date and pay respect to all the individuals involved in the Twin Towers attrocity

Subserviant Chicken

You could have had the shitiest day, you could have got the sack, lost your dog and broken your leg within 24 hours and this site will still have you rolling around laughing at just the utter slap stick stupidity of it.

You have to go there....now.

Thank you Olla Podrida, you have lightened my weary mood no end.

My corney date

Dates from Hell number 31.

A while ago (probably about a year ago), I put an advert in a local paper under the 'Meeting Point' section, (or some other mildly patronising term), "just to see who is out there" I told myself. Although it's really hard to describe yourself (without using the term 'more head hair would be nice'), my advert was genial and welcoming, although I did include the term "...seeks sane...". Week one, a message from a woman who clearly had not paid any attention to my advert nor listened to my voice recorded intro, as when we spoke, she insisted that her age should be irrelevant to me (I had hardly said a word) and that she couldn't remember contacting me. I felt real special then. Week two, a message from "Polly" (not her real name). Poppy and I chatted a couple of times, I respected her wish to not give me her landline number, and so our conversations cost me about £20 a time. Oh well, I thought, we'll see. We arranged to meet, which meant a 1/2 hour drive and hour train journey for me, but... oh well, I thought, we'll see. We met at the station, shook hands if I remember, I suggested in that awkward silence moment that maybe we could go for a coffee somewhere. Polly reported she knew of nowhere like that; a little strange I thought as she lived in a big city with a very large student population. Neverthless, Poppy said she knew of somewhere and led me to her car. As we drove along, going out of town, I mused with Polly that she was "brave" to drive a male she barely knew around in her car at night. I was a little confused, since this was the same girl who hadn't wanted give me her landline number - fair enough - but was happy to drive around alone with me... Maybe when she met me and saw my teddy bear face (note to self: trim beard!) she considered I was harmless.

Anyway, we drove for a while, chatted about what she did for a living, what she was looking for, the price of fish etc.. I recall her telling me about her Ex., with whom she had been for nine years. Uh oh, thinks I, not another rebound relationship for Chris, please Lord. Our destination caught me a little by surprise, for it wasn't the quaint riverside cafe I had pictured, nor the plush inviting atmosphere of a cocktail bar. No, for our first meeting, Polly took me to McDonald's. A particularly unusual choice of venue perhaps, considering I was vegan at the time, a fact we had chatted about during our £20-a-time phone chats. It emerged that Polly and Mr Ex. had frequented MaccyDees a lot during their 9 years. Beam me up Scotty.

So, making the best of it, as you do, I chose what I could from the menu (that'll be an OJ for me, then) and we sat down at a very tiny round table with slippery seats. Polly and I exchanged converse for all of three amazing minutes, before she turned her attention to the staff at McD's, who she had grown to know well over those 9 years. So busy was she chatting and "catching up" she barely noticed me nipping to the loo. As I left the smallest room, I stopped briefly by the Exit door, and considered bolting out of there like my sanity depended upon it... But something made me go back, call it misplaced curiosity if you like.

We finished our "meals", waded our way through the children laying on the floor playing with their "Fun Meal" toys, or whatever they are called, and went out to the car. Well, time was getting on, and I reported that maybe I should check the train times (maybe I could catch the same one that brought me here if we're quick, I thought). But the next direct train was an hour or so away. But Polly had a suggestion, reporting that she had a "little job" that she did every evening. She did, if I am honest, offer me a get-out clause, saying that she could do the "job" when I had gone, but that damn misplaced curiosity lingered on, and I agreed to tag along. Bear with me, the punchline of this whole tale is coming....

Polly informed me that as she liked animals (as indeed do I, though not on my plate nor in any wierd beastial kind of way, I trust you appreciate) and therefore she was concerned that the city's pidgeons get hungry at night; she couldn't sleep for worrying about them (in the priority list of things to be worried about regarding animals, I personally would put testing, hunting and general cruelty somewhere above this, but each to her own). So, Polly - each night, every day of the week - fed the pidgeons. That's quite sweet, I thought, imagining her pulling out a bag of breadcrumbs from her coat pocket. Instead, Polly led me to the back of her car where she had a 10kg sack of corn. This she diligently divided into four carrier bags, and then we made our way around the city centre until we got to certain locations, where Polly liberally threw corn over the floor for the pidgeons. She told me with a wry tone to her voice that on several occasions in the past she had been chased by both street cleaners and "millions of pidgeons". I bet. And during our wandering we met Polly's friend "Geoff" who collected empty drink cans from the bins. I was genuine in my greeting of Geoff, but politely declined to shake his hand!

So the meeting with Polly was quite an experience, I smile to myself each time I see a group of pidgeons fighting over a piece of crisp or whatever. Polly's intentions were clearly good ones, though I guess she wasn't aware that it's advised that the best and most humane way to control pidgeon populations is to not feed them, since the more they eat, the more they reproduce, and sadly the more likely they are to be culled. Indirectly Polly may have been responsible for some of her pidgeon friends' demise. I didn't mention this to Polly. And I was also concerned that Polly went out alone on to the streets in a busy city late at night, with nothing but a big bag of corn to defend herself with. Ahh, bless you Polly. It wasn't quite what I had expected from a date, but, as I got onto the train, I was at least smiling.

If only I could get that wretched pidgeon poo off my shoes...

Returning to Up Over

Hello, this is a quick post to comment that I am on the return journey from t'other side of the world, literally. I am writing this in Malaysia Airport - where else would you be on a Sunday afternoon. The journey was eventful to say the least; for those of you not in the loop - or not wanting to be (I'm guessing many readers will fall into either of these categories) I have been to Australia for the last 3 weeks. My last post reported that I was going on a six-day trip into the outback and was fearing the wrath of snakes and spiders. My Personal Assistant is wading through the concerned emails from people who grew afraid for my safety when a blog post did not follow promptly seven days later. Though perhaps the term "wading through the emails" is misleading, and creates the illusion that there were lots of emails. Or, indeed, any.

Anyway, I survived, though it was not the wrath of snakes or spiders that I should have feared but the more-than-slightly-nuts tour guide, Steve. I will not go into details here, for my body clock is elsewhere and I fear I will bore those of you who have read this far.... but Steve was CRAZY. Cuckoo cuckoo "oh my God will I really get out of this situation, has anyone got any emergency flares, I think I'm having a panic attack, shall we make a run for it and try our luck in the bush rather than chance our survival with this guy" kind of crazy; his driving, his almost beastial love of dead "rare" animals, his borderline temper; his lack of need for sleep or food; his "collection" of things your mother would not approve of in the back of the bus. Hmm... more later in the week. For now I am off to prepare for the last (12 hr) plane journey back to Heathrow and to try to persuade my right ear to equalise in pressure as it's aching like ears should not. Good night, good morning, good afternoon, whatever it is where you are. PS. Please at least take vitamins if you are not eating much John mate :oP

Tales from Oz. Chapter One.

Despite my assertion a matters of days ago (or was it weeks? My body clock seems to be on the other side of the globe right now), I thought I would write a few lines at the internet cafe I have stumbled upon at Malaysia airport. Stumbled, literally, as my friend and I very nearly got on the wrong plane just now - an hour too early. Already I fear for how we may navigate ourselves around Australia with minutes of sleep and a packet of peanuts and a portion of chips shared between us. Malaysia seems nice (from what I can see from the airport) but vegan friendly they ain't. So, anyway - our journey started 20 hours ago with a three-hour coach trip; two huge diversions around traffic jams, we got to the airport (and caught the right plane, thankfully). The following 12 hour plane journey felt like sensory deprivation sitting in a washing machine, with only inches of space to fold my nagging and odeamic limbs. Turbulence at 3 million feet in the air, I can face ANY rollercoaster now.

Anyway, one more flight to go, lasting seven hours, by then it will be daylight and dark and then daylight again and I will be feeling neasea, tinged with the taste of peanuts and chips. Then we shall arrive, greet our hosts and promptly fall asleep for a few days. I will post again when I can construct a sentence without having to re-type it several times, and asking people to spell check it. Maybe I left my brain at Heathrow as well as my sunglassess.

G'Night possums.

Bonza mate.

Well my cowboy hat and family-pack of corks are packed, along with a LOT of reading fodder for the flights, for little old me is off to t'other side of the world to Australia. Cue that track by Manic Street Preachers. I'm off in a matter of hours, in fact. And I haven't packed yet (still UNpacking from moving house a few days ago). We leave Sunday evening and arrive nearly 24 hours later. Gulp. That's a lot of time staring out the window and trying to be tolerant towards the passenger sitting beside me who is gradually digging her elbow into my chest and snoring like she has swallowed an oil refinery drill. Only jesting, I'm sure my mate will make a great travelling companion! In the 24 hours (we stop over for 3 1/2 of those actually) I can at least practice the lingo. Although I have been advised NOT to go around saying "G'Day Possum", "Are we 'avvin' a Barbie this arvo", "I wouldn't give a Castlemaine four X for anything else" and "Croy-key" like the slightly insane Steve Irwin ("Oy've just shoved me stick in this big Croc's ear. Oi think I've made the big fella a beet ang-gry. See 'ow 'ee's chasing me dan the riv-er bay-nk").

So my entries from today onwards will be sporadic, but I shall endeavour to feedback at regular intervals some of the adventures I have. I can hear the gasps of anticipation from you already.

"Let me be the one that you turn to, someone you can rely on, closer each day... la la la Home and Away".
(I am ashamed I actually know the lyrics).

Pack of Fosters, anyone....?

My Heritage.

Don't think I've laughed quiet as hard for a very long time.

http://www.jokaroo.com/ecards/funny/europe%20and%20italy.htm

Hijacked from newly found buddies at chapel-perilous.

Breakaway Time

It was that time of the year for me to engage in Breakaway yesturday and Monday (hence my late posting... apologies). For those not involved in working with 'the potentially challenging', this training does not unfortunately involve a trip around a biscuit factory (Mmmm... biscuits) nor a quick jaunt (a break away) across to Paris for the weekend. Breakaway involves learning techniques for basically getting out of tricky situations safely - for example when someone is trying to pin you to the floor or pull all your hair out (no danger of that one for me, at least), in a way that doesn't hurt the 'aggressor' (heaven forbid). Being thrown around onto crash mats all day by people you've never met before has it's lighter side, and it sure beats working for a living. The trouble is, of course, even knowing these techniques in theory and practising them on newly-met colleague Bob will be of little value to me if a client, perhaps weighing 25 stone, decides verbal communication with me is not going anywhere and he wishes to make his point a little more forthcoming by enlisting the use of his fists and football-sized hands around my neck. Unlike Bob, he ain't gonna be real gentle, or apologise if one of his nails chafes by wrist. My mind's going to go blank, as I forget everything, and there will be no time to ask my client if he minds waiting a few minutes while I try to recall the best way of changing the situation to an extent where I'm legging it out the door and he's on the floor. Actually my work is rarely that dangerous, and I'm far more likely to be assaulted walking down the street; in which case maybe we should all have th