This is weird..... what side of the brain do you function with?
I can see the image both ways... work that one out?
Or does it mean that I have a left and right side of my brain? LOL
Monday, 31 December 2007
Sunday, 30 December 2007
Alone
Thinking we’d found true love.
Kisses snogged in many ways,
But there was never enough.
And many splendid seasoned nights,
You were mine all mine,
Our hard fought duvet fights,
Were started with Sainsbury’s wine
Those sensual lustful times,
Lie fractured in the waste.
Now trodden alcoholic signs,
Tell me you’ve rejected my taste.
The vision broken one rainy day,
Your love has gone forever.
The bar takes on a different haze,
Now we are no longer together.
Please realize I wanted you back,
But you left me wasted alone.
Love connection's cruelly snapped,
It’s no fun buying on your own.
© 1981
Seventeen Rules for Real Men
1. It is never okay for real men to eat quiche.
2. Bacardi breezers are for girls only.
3. Real men must never have cats as pets. Instead, they must own a dog. Real men type dogs are: rottweilers, Alsatians (never ever call them German Shepherds!), great danes, bulldogs or Staffordshire bull terriers. These breeds of dog are more commonly known as, devil dogs. They must have names like Satan or Lucifer.
4. It is only okay to kiss another male when that male is your brother and you are Al Pacino, and this is the only sportsmanlike way to let him know that, for business reasons, you must have him killed.
5. It is only acceptable to hug another male on two occasions:
6. A real man must ignore or deny physical pain. Even if you have taken a bullet to the arm, you must insist that it is only a ‘flesh wound’. You must then lock yourself in the bathroom in order to cry/muffle your screams with the loofah/pass out whilst still retaining your masculinity.
7. A real man will call a woman who will not sleep with him on the first date either a lesbian or frigid. If she does sleep with him on the first date, then she is therefore a slut and not to be trusted around other men.
8. Having Match of the Day on the TV during sex is the equivalent of having a Barry White album playing softly, and a room full of rose petals and candles.
9. If you can’t take ‘it’ then you’re not a real man (whatever ‘it’ may be). Gird your loins and get on with it.
10. Real men never admit to not understanding a political issue. Opinions are like pubic hair. You’re not an adult male without them.
11. Real men never have to consult the TV guide when there’s a remote control handy. They just dive-bomb through all 100 channels, evading the adverts like they do the G-spot.
12. Real men never ask, “How was it for you?” because real men don’t care. Real men also explain to their partner, in explicit detail, how their previous girlfriend was better/sexier/more adventurous etc than them.
13. Real men, when their partner is around, flick aloofly through their issue of Playboy or Mayfair as if it were a Reader’s Digest. When with their mates, they describe in detail exactly what they would like to do to each model. When alone, they study and quantify each curve like a forensic scientist.
14. Real men earn more money than their partners. In the unlikely event that they don’t, real men will continuously put their partner and their ‘mediocre’ career down, chipping away at their self-esteem, yet still accept money for ‘essentials’ i.e. booze, fags, strip clubs etc.
15. Real men expect women to dress up each and every time they have sex i.e. stockings, suspenders, basque etc. However, real men will not even bother to wash beforehand and will keep their socks on.
16. Real men consider any female fair game, whether this be their partner's sister, best-friend, mother, the next door neighbor etc. If real men have their advances rejected, they automatically assume that the female in question is a lesbian.
17. Real men are only permitted to cry on two occasions:
2. Bacardi breezers are for girls only.
3. Real men must never have cats as pets. Instead, they must own a dog. Real men type dogs are: rottweilers, Alsatians (never ever call them German Shepherds!), great danes, bulldogs or Staffordshire bull terriers. These breeds of dog are more commonly known as, devil dogs. They must have names like Satan or Lucifer.
4. It is only okay to kiss another male when that male is your brother and you are Al Pacino, and this is the only sportsmanlike way to let him know that, for business reasons, you must have him killed.
5. It is only acceptable to hug another male on two occasions:
- You are performing the Heimlich Manoeuvre. In this case, you must shout, “I am dislodging food trapped in this man’s trachea! I am in no way aroused!”
- Your team has just won a cup of any description.
6. A real man must ignore or deny physical pain. Even if you have taken a bullet to the arm, you must insist that it is only a ‘flesh wound’. You must then lock yourself in the bathroom in order to cry/muffle your screams with the loofah/pass out whilst still retaining your masculinity.
7. A real man will call a woman who will not sleep with him on the first date either a lesbian or frigid. If she does sleep with him on the first date, then she is therefore a slut and not to be trusted around other men.
8. Having Match of the Day on the TV during sex is the equivalent of having a Barry White album playing softly, and a room full of rose petals and candles.
9. If you can’t take ‘it’ then you’re not a real man (whatever ‘it’ may be). Gird your loins and get on with it.
10. Real men never admit to not understanding a political issue. Opinions are like pubic hair. You’re not an adult male without them.
11. Real men never have to consult the TV guide when there’s a remote control handy. They just dive-bomb through all 100 channels, evading the adverts like they do the G-spot.
12. Real men never ask, “How was it for you?” because real men don’t care. Real men also explain to their partner, in explicit detail, how their previous girlfriend was better/sexier/more adventurous etc than them.
13. Real men, when their partner is around, flick aloofly through their issue of Playboy or Mayfair as if it were a Reader’s Digest. When with their mates, they describe in detail exactly what they would like to do to each model. When alone, they study and quantify each curve like a forensic scientist.
14. Real men earn more money than their partners. In the unlikely event that they don’t, real men will continuously put their partner and their ‘mediocre’ career down, chipping away at their self-esteem, yet still accept money for ‘essentials’ i.e. booze, fags, strip clubs etc.
15. Real men expect women to dress up each and every time they have sex i.e. stockings, suspenders, basque etc. However, real men will not even bother to wash beforehand and will keep their socks on.
16. Real men consider any female fair game, whether this be their partner's sister, best-friend, mother, the next door neighbor etc. If real men have their advances rejected, they automatically assume that the female in question is a lesbian.
17. Real men are only permitted to cry on two occasions:
- Your team loses.
- You receive a punch/kick to the nuts.
Emma Clarke Sacked!
Added her blog to my list... why? Why not?
She is best known for this .
...and for creating some spoof announcements for example.
One of the best is here.
But the best one is here.
Alas, London Underground did not get the joke and sacked her!
Further examples of the announcements are here.
She is best known for this .
...and for creating some spoof announcements for example.
One of the best is here.
But the best one is here.
Alas, London Underground did not get the joke and sacked her!
Further examples of the announcements are here.
Questionaire
Wondered if anyone actually was reading this, so took the step of adding a questionnaire to the blog.
----->
Would be grateful if my readers could take a moment and answer the question...
Thank you.
----->
Would be grateful if my readers could take a moment and answer the question...
Thank you.
Thursday, 27 December 2007
More on the 'date that was not a date'.
Actually, the date was more of six pints of Hoegaarden (mine) and six vodka and white lemonades (hers), loads of laughs, one very rude joke (told by her, not me) and four hours of non stop chatter.
A great evening...totally unexpected in the festive season...and better than watching 'Extras' on the television.
And it wasn't a date she says... was a meeting about going on a date....
Two Lost Souls in a Cyberworld
Connecting in a cyber world
Messenger, ICQ
It’s that thing we do
She tells me of broken romances.
Lost loves missed chances.
If she knew, if she knew
That I’ve been there too
Many lands and oceans,
One whole day of flying time.
Many lands and oceans
Between your place and mine
Two lost souls in a cyber world
Two lost souls in a cyber world
Picked up all of the parts
Mended them with superglue
Only thing you can do.
bridge
More than friendship, more than fun
You must know that I am in love with you.
Want to take the chance on a big romance?
Cards on the table
I’m willing, I’m able
If dreams can come true
Hell, I’d be there for you
© 2003
Dating
I have a date... only coffee, muffins and a chat but it's a date.
Completely out of the blue, now I have to have my monthly bath two days early. Then again it's Xmas time...got to spoil myself somehow!
Completely out of the blue, now I have to have my monthly bath two days early. Then again it's Xmas time...got to spoil myself somehow!
Wednesday, 26 December 2007
Debenhams
Just wanted to give a salutation to all those work at the Cambridge branch of Debenhams and a moan at the managers!
On Xmas Eve, the shops surrounding the aforementioned branch closed at or around 4 p.m. Perfectly reasonable, I thought.
Debenhams, however, were open until six! Yes SIX P.M. on Xmas Eve despite there being more people in the North Pole in Summer than there were in Cambridge seeking the last minute shop!
I was in there at this time, not that I wanted to be but I had to be. Why? My beloved son wanted me to get him a red shirt for Xmas for his work.
Anyway, I digress...
What were the managers of Debenhams thinking? Why did they keep the shop open and the shop assistants 'busy' until 6 when there was no point? Behind the false smiles of the perfume counter people and the obvious boredom of the others, there was plainly a feeling behind their eyes that they wanted to go home and that there was no real point in keeping the shop open.
I salute you shop workers of Debenhams. Merry Xmas!
Managers of Debenhams, I urge you to reconsider your opening hours over Xmas...
On Xmas Eve, the shops surrounding the aforementioned branch closed at or around 4 p.m. Perfectly reasonable, I thought.
Debenhams, however, were open until six! Yes SIX P.M. on Xmas Eve despite there being more people in the North Pole in Summer than there were in Cambridge seeking the last minute shop!
I was in there at this time, not that I wanted to be but I had to be. Why? My beloved son wanted me to get him a red shirt for Xmas for his work.
Anyway, I digress...
What were the managers of Debenhams thinking? Why did they keep the shop open and the shop assistants 'busy' until 6 when there was no point? Behind the false smiles of the perfume counter people and the obvious boredom of the others, there was plainly a feeling behind their eyes that they wanted to go home and that there was no real point in keeping the shop open.
I salute you shop workers of Debenhams. Merry Xmas!
Managers of Debenhams, I urge you to reconsider your opening hours over Xmas...
Turkey is Off
It's Boxing Day.... feel a little down after the excitement of Xmas Day. But is that not what this day is for?
Major incident of Xmas Day was that I went to cook the turkey and it stank.
Smelled worse than a sewage plant on heat. Obviously the microbes had gotten to her. Instead of going on the oven, it went straight to the green (recycling) bin. Therein it lies, creating an odor that would permeate the strongest of materials.
However, my son brought back some breast meat from his work and we ate that. Then he fell asleep in the chair after a long day serving the masses Xmas Lunch in the pub that he works in. Bless him!
Major incident of Xmas Day was that I went to cook the turkey and it stank.
Smelled worse than a sewage plant on heat. Obviously the microbes had gotten to her. Instead of going on the oven, it went straight to the green (recycling) bin. Therein it lies, creating an odor that would permeate the strongest of materials.
However, my son brought back some breast meat from his work and we ate that. Then he fell asleep in the chair after a long day serving the masses Xmas Lunch in the pub that he works in. Bless him!
Lotto - would you believe it?
You could not make this up.... the least frequent number that has been drawn on the UK's National Lottery is....
...thirteen
See here for details.
Drop down the menu that says 'Time Period' and click on 'to date'...and there you will find the evidence.
...thirteen
See here for details.
Drop down the menu that says 'Time Period' and click on 'to date'...and there you will find the evidence.
Saturday, 22 December 2007
Night Lady
She piled up her makeup in mountains.
So slippery, so as the men who would try and climb her that night,
Would slide down into the cavity of her wit.
She thought of the pub, the club, the usual Saturday night out.
Amongst those horny, boozing men.
Who could give her those romantic times,
She needed in more sober times.
So slippery, so as the men who would try and climb her that night,
Would slide down into the cavity of her wit.
She thought of the pub, the club, the usual Saturday night out.
Amongst those horny, boozing men.
Who could give her those romantic times,
She needed in more sober times.
Stopping for a fraction of a brushstroke,
She remembered a love, which once, help her up.
Balancing her awkward insecurities in the brassiere of life.
Rushing downstairs, crying, yelling
‘Where are my black shoes?’
A thought in quick motion,
Flickered across the womb in her brain.
She had almost forgotten to take her pill.
She found the half-empty packet,
And took one.
Before she left,
She stole one last glance into the full-length mirror.
In case her hairspray hadn’t held.
In case her baby skin neck showed any evidence of last weeks meat injection.
In case her suspender belt offered its outline.
She had made herself so.
A real night lady.
And she acknowledged it to herself.
Her mother,
Calling from the odours of the ‘sorryicanthaveanyi’mdieting’ dinner.
A hesitant ‘let me show her I care’ murmur.
The night lady did not hear her mother’s voice.
Anyway, her reply was lost as she strolled out
Into the purse filed sunset.
Her steady, sullen walk to the graffiti strewn bus stop,
Was interrupted by the chatter of married, arm filled men
Returning from the offie.
She thought,
‘Will it be tonight?’
‘Will I meet the man whom I could really love?’
No, she would miss him,
In the bass beat of strobe lights,
Past midnight.
Sunday morning.
She fixed her clothes.
Rearranged her sought after dreams.
Again, they had not come true.
She locked away the truth of her night lady adventures in the insecurity of her mind.
And wondered and she wandered back home.
‘Why isn’t it a mans heart that I can find and not a penis?’
She was going home to sleep.
© 1980
Saviour of her Faith
She’s the Saviour of her faith.
Singing religious songs
She’s the Saviour of her faith.
Doing what she knows is wrong.
She’s the Saviour of her faith.
Playing adulterous games
She’s the Saviour of her faith.
Riding a runaway train.
She’s the Saviour of her faith.
Hymn singing on a Sunday.
She’s the Saviour of her faith.
Forgets it all by Monday.
Friday, 21 December 2007
St Trinians - the Movie
I am old enough to have seen the original films on Black and White TV years ago.
Not old enough to be a teacher there though, shame of you who thought that.
Anyway, saw the new film tonight. Twas great, full of visual and verbal jokes, lots of in digs at other British films and plenty of great lines. Loved it. Throughly recommend it.
Glad to see that some of the pillars of the educational world allowed themselves to be in on the jokes. Mentioned are Cheltenham Ladies College (quite heavily), Bedales, Eton College and Ampleforth.
I wonder if they had been alerted to the fact and if a little 'bribe' had been passed there way. No matter if it had.
I can imagine the letter to the respective Headmasters...
Dear Sir/Madam
We are remaking the St Trinians film as you may or may not be aware. We would like to use your school name in the production.... etc
I wonder which public schools would have said no to this free publicity.
Though I am left wondering why there were no state schools name checked.
Not old enough to be a teacher there though, shame of you who thought that.
Anyway, saw the new film tonight. Twas great, full of visual and verbal jokes, lots of in digs at other British films and plenty of great lines. Loved it. Throughly recommend it.
Glad to see that some of the pillars of the educational world allowed themselves to be in on the jokes. Mentioned are Cheltenham Ladies College (quite heavily), Bedales, Eton College and Ampleforth.
I wonder if they had been alerted to the fact and if a little 'bribe' had been passed there way. No matter if it had.
I can imagine the letter to the respective Headmasters...
Dear Sir/Madam
We are remaking the St Trinians film as you may or may not be aware. We would like to use your school name in the production.... etc
I wonder which public schools would have said no to this free publicity.
Though I am left wondering why there were no state schools name checked.
Thursday, 20 December 2007
The Ballard of Three Women
(H**** 1981)
I don’t need you now,
To make me feel alive.
No longer am I weak,
And fighting for survival.
But there is a question,
Haunting deep inside.
I can’t find the answer to,
‘Why did we have to try?’
(L*** 2000)
Forever, I will need you,
To make me feel alive.
You helped me when I was weak,
And struggling to survive.
But here is the question,
Coming from deep inside.
“In nineteen eighty three,
Why were we not ready to try?”
(L**** 2001)
I need you now,
To make me feel alive,
You can’t see how weak I am,
I’m fighting for survival.
And here’s the question
Tormenting deep inside,
“Are you really brave enough?”
“Are you prepared to try?”
Speaking English
Gordon Brown wants to ensure that all that live in this country speak English. It's government policy apparently. It is becoming the prerequisite nowadays for people to get a job in the UK.
The Football Association appoints an Italian to manage the English National Team that does not speak English. Fabio gives himself one month to learn English so that John Terry and company can win the World Cup next time around. In fact he says that we will, in Italian of course, not English, win the damn thing...
Is the Football Association not aware of or beyond government policy?
The Football Association appoints an Italian to manage the English National Team that does not speak English. Fabio gives himself one month to learn English so that John Terry and company can win the World Cup next time around. In fact he says that we will, in Italian of course, not English, win the damn thing...
Is the Football Association not aware of or beyond government policy?
Wednesday, 19 December 2007
The Internet solves almost all of your problems
Dosed up with caffeine,
Choked on carbon monoxide,
Pain filled neurones state,
Why aren’t you by my side?
Written words are useless,
The night’s sneaked in once more.
One more day without you,
‘Twas my heart you tore.
Period pains are agony,
Desire plays havoc inside.
Another sip of coffee,
Why aren’t you by my side?
Read another book my son,
And go to bed alone.
Everlasting love remains,
I’m searching for your clone.
Envoi
The Internet solves almost all of your problems.
Observation 1
Went to get dinner tonight from M&S.
Walking home espied a tramp with a dog talking on a mobile phone.
Not an image that I thought that I would see.
Walking home espied a tramp with a dog talking on a mobile phone.
Not an image that I thought that I would see.
Whats on at the O2 Arena Tonight?
I am sitting at home knowing that the Boss will be in England for his last gig before Xmas. Springsteen and the E Street Band are in London tonight at the place formerly known as the Millennium Dome or Blair's Folly. After the excesses of Led Zeppelin, Take That and the Spice Girls the best live act in the world will be strutting their stuff playing for the lucky 20,000 plus.
I was one of the many that tried to get tickets for the gig but failed. I was one of the ones that looked on Ebay the morning that they were released at 9 a.m. and saw, to my utter disgust that an entrepreneurial non-Springsteen fan had placed them on sale at 9.01 a.m.
I could feel down and throughly pissed off that I am writing this when I could have been by the Thames standing and waiting for E Street Band to appear.
Why?
Two things really. Firstly, I have tickets to the Emirates Stadium Gig on May 30th. Standing. Will be there early to get as close to the front as possible. My brother has hinted that he would like to go, and if I do decide to take him, we will be at the stadium very early indeed. I am also taking the brood and one of their mates to the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff in June. A double result and some consolation though the one song that I would have liked to hear is 'Santa Claus is Coming to Town'. I doubt that it is applicable for either of the Summer's gigs.
Secondly, wandered about town this afternoon and bought a book to read tonight partially to take my mind off my relative disappointment of not being in London. 'Odette' by Jerrard Tickell. The story of a very brave lady that spied for the Allies in WW2. Walking home, it struck me the that there was a paradox here. I am about to read the biography of a person I admire who fought for the cause of freedom in her own way. Just so that humbletons like me could be disappointed at not being at the gig of another person that I admire.
Too many times we don't see the bigger picture.
If you did go tonight and had a great time, it would be good to hear from you.
I'll probably cry when reading the story of Odette.
I was one of the many that tried to get tickets for the gig but failed. I was one of the ones that looked on Ebay the morning that they were released at 9 a.m. and saw, to my utter disgust that an entrepreneurial non-Springsteen fan had placed them on sale at 9.01 a.m.
I could feel down and throughly pissed off that I am writing this when I could have been by the Thames standing and waiting for E Street Band to appear.
Why?
Two things really. Firstly, I have tickets to the Emirates Stadium Gig on May 30th. Standing. Will be there early to get as close to the front as possible. My brother has hinted that he would like to go, and if I do decide to take him, we will be at the stadium very early indeed. I am also taking the brood and one of their mates to the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff in June. A double result and some consolation though the one song that I would have liked to hear is 'Santa Claus is Coming to Town'. I doubt that it is applicable for either of the Summer's gigs.
Secondly, wandered about town this afternoon and bought a book to read tonight partially to take my mind off my relative disappointment of not being in London. 'Odette' by Jerrard Tickell. The story of a very brave lady that spied for the Allies in WW2. Walking home, it struck me the that there was a paradox here. I am about to read the biography of a person I admire who fought for the cause of freedom in her own way. Just so that humbletons like me could be disappointed at not being at the gig of another person that I admire.
Too many times we don't see the bigger picture.
If you did go tonight and had a great time, it would be good to hear from you.
I'll probably cry when reading the story of Odette.
Sunday, 16 December 2007
Broken Down Angel (LizzieBee)
She’s a broken down angel.
Can’t fly to heaven above.
She’s a complex personality.
Doesn’t know whom she is thinking of.
Her Bible tells her all the things,
That she chooses to ignore.
In this land of opportunity,
She scared to open the door.
She flies in the face of wisdom.
Believes what she thinks is real.
Complexing her uncertainty.
She is forsakes the perfect deal.
Her friends advise her one way.
Persuade her to last the course.
Inside, her dreams are shattered.
The decision is not hers to force.
She goes to church on Sunday.
Auditions for the choir above.
Tries to live the notes she sings.
And forget her one true love.
The emotions that she feels.
She keeps them hidden so low.
Chained ‘cause of circumstance.
She will not let them flow.
There are those around her,
Who won’t solve the dreams she makes.
A prisoner of the path she laid.
And of the promises she breaks.
In the void in which she lives.
She’s lonely but not alone.
She is the broken down angel.
Living in her comfort zone.
Chorus
Here comes Lizzie Bee.
Oozing sexuality,
Looking for her liberty.
Her life’s just a lottery
Here comes Lizzie Bee.
Wanting that chemistry,
And scared of reality.
Her life’s just a lottery.
(c) CTM
Saturday, 15 December 2007
Chemistry is Dead
In a day or term where some time long ago, I sought to find the next Nobel Prize winner in the manipulation of atoms and molecules. You see that The Mole used to be a Teacher of Chemistry but I am cured now. Aspirin taken and antibodies injected.
I used to tease the pupils/students with smells and sights and explosions. The smells that came from reactions between stuff and more stuff. These bits of stuff that would react with other bits of stuff in a very violent way and give off an awful smell. Loved every minute of it and if I had been able to inspire the kids to follow a carer in Chemistry and/or Science I would have been very pleased.
There was a risk assessment but the actual risk was so minimal that the under 18's would get more harm from filling up their cars with petrol on a daily basis...
Now news reaches The Mole that teachers are now coming to be allergic to freshly laundered clothes worn by dedicated mothers. See the story here
Come on! This is ridiculous! Every one of us comes into contact with loads of odours every day. Why should the child have to change his fabric conditioner for the teacher?
I used to tease the pupils/students with smells and sights and explosions. The smells that came from reactions between stuff and more stuff. These bits of stuff that would react with other bits of stuff in a very violent way and give off an awful smell. Loved every minute of it and if I had been able to inspire the kids to follow a carer in Chemistry and/or Science I would have been very pleased.
There was a risk assessment but the actual risk was so minimal that the under 18's would get more harm from filling up their cars with petrol on a daily basis...
Now news reaches The Mole that teachers are now coming to be allergic to freshly laundered clothes worn by dedicated mothers. See the story here
Come on! This is ridiculous! Every one of us comes into contact with loads of odours every day. Why should the child have to change his fabric conditioner for the teacher?
Friday, 14 December 2007
Jeremy Kyle
I think television has come on a lot over the last few years.... not in the quality of shows but the technology that shows them.
Speaking of quality, some low quality television is very addictive such as Big Brother, I'm a Celeb and Jeremy Kyle... the mild mannered UK version of the Jerry Springer Show... again strangely addictive.
But there is something that bothers me about the Jeremy's show. The Lie Detector stuff which he tells us, in great detail, is 96% accurate. This means, of course, that it is inaccurate 4% of the time. That may seem obvious but the way that it is used is to definitely tell the 'truth' about the situation that the poor unfortunates find themselves in.
What bothers me is that 4% get told they are LIARS or some beat the test. Yet there is no comeback, no reexamination of the facts. It's a 96% test with 100% decisions resting on it. Now if one couple/person is maligned this way, he/she/they have no way out; there is no court of appeal. They are labeled on 'National TV' with friends and family finding out, they get Jeremy's reasoned response which can be shouting at them and we are all entertained by his mad yelling! I am sure that the 4% have a rougher time because of it.
Even if they beat the test (it says that they tell the truth but they are 'guilty') then the suspicions carry on because other people will say that they 'know' the truth.
The Lie Detector test is a no win situation here. Beat it (be one of the 4%) and you continue to be under suspicion or it works out you are a liar and you get castigated by Jeremy's delightful high pitched, angry getting angrier speech telling you what a low life you are.
If capital punishment were as inaccurate, would we continue with it?
Speaking of quality, some low quality television is very addictive such as Big Brother, I'm a Celeb and Jeremy Kyle... the mild mannered UK version of the Jerry Springer Show... again strangely addictive.
But there is something that bothers me about the Jeremy's show. The Lie Detector stuff which he tells us, in great detail, is 96% accurate. This means, of course, that it is inaccurate 4% of the time. That may seem obvious but the way that it is used is to definitely tell the 'truth' about the situation that the poor unfortunates find themselves in.
What bothers me is that 4% get told they are LIARS or some beat the test. Yet there is no comeback, no reexamination of the facts. It's a 96% test with 100% decisions resting on it. Now if one couple/person is maligned this way, he/she/they have no way out; there is no court of appeal. They are labeled on 'National TV' with friends and family finding out, they get Jeremy's reasoned response which can be shouting at them and we are all entertained by his mad yelling! I am sure that the 4% have a rougher time because of it.
Even if they beat the test (it says that they tell the truth but they are 'guilty') then the suspicions carry on because other people will say that they 'know' the truth.
The Lie Detector test is a no win situation here. Beat it (be one of the 4%) and you continue to be under suspicion or it works out you are a liar and you get castigated by Jeremy's delightful high pitched, angry getting angrier speech telling you what a low life you are.
If capital punishment were as inaccurate, would we continue with it?
Wednesday, 12 December 2007
December 15th 1972
...was the last time that there was human activity on the moon (with December 14th the last day that man actually set foot on the surface) according to wikipedia .
Therefore, following on from my previous post, no one 35 years and younger two days from now will have been alive when a man walked on the moon.... am I the only one that finds that incredible?
I salute Neil Armstrong, Edwin Aldrin, Charles Conrad, Alan Bean, Alan Shepard, Edgar Mitchell, David Scott, James Irwin, John Young, Charles Duke, Gene Cernan, and Harrison Schmitt as the only guys to have been there.
Therefore, following on from my previous post, no one 35 years and younger two days from now will have been alive when a man walked on the moon.... am I the only one that finds that incredible?
I salute Neil Armstrong, Edwin Aldrin, Charles Conrad, Alan Bean, Alan Shepard, Edgar Mitchell, David Scott, James Irwin, John Young, Charles Duke, Gene Cernan, and Harrison Schmitt as the only guys to have been there.
Buying Beer
Years ago... when beer was cheaper and most people alive could remember seeing (through their TV sets) a man walk or drive on the moon, you could walk into a pub and ask for a pint of the landlords finest ale. He/she would pour the beer and then know what the price was and ask for the cash there and then.
If there was a large round, the total would be calculated in the bar stewards head and stated to you as the last drink was set in front of you. You would then give the aforementioned personage the beer tokens and wal away happy.
NOWADAYS, you ask for a beer and then the person behind the beer counter has to refer all to some high tech PC/till/electronic abacus and you wait.... then you wait some more.... and if you are particularly unlucky to have someone that would not know his/her windoze from their multitasking stocktaking whiz bang wallop front end computer till.... you will wait some more...
Result? Flat beer, high price and agitated customers in front of the bar.
And they say computers make life easier????
If there was a large round, the total would be calculated in the bar stewards head and stated to you as the last drink was set in front of you. You would then give the aforementioned personage the beer tokens and wal away happy.
NOWADAYS, you ask for a beer and then the person behind the beer counter has to refer all to some high tech PC/till/electronic abacus and you wait.... then you wait some more.... and if you are particularly unlucky to have someone that would not know his/her windoze from their multitasking stocktaking whiz bang wallop front end computer till.... you will wait some more...
Result? Flat beer, high price and agitated customers in front of the bar.
And they say computers make life easier????
Tuesday, 11 December 2007
Ties
...yes ties.... NOT the ties that bind families NOR the ties that some of the more extravagant members of the sexual community use NOR Thai's which are a very nice group of people that I have never met NOR the things that are put on mail bags to prevent your snail mail from spilling out onto the High Street.
BUT Ties, the useless piece of cloth that goes around the neck under a collar that men (and occasionally women) wear.
What is the point?
If I wanted to have something to clean my glasses would I not have a piece of cloth in my trouser pocket or make the occasional trip to the toilet for some loo paper?
So what is the point of the Tie?
BUT Ties, the useless piece of cloth that goes around the neck under a collar that men (and occasionally women) wear.
What is the point?
If I wanted to have something to clean my glasses would I not have a piece of cloth in my trouser pocket or make the occasional trip to the toilet for some loo paper?
So what is the point of the Tie?
England, where is my England?
This world is going upside down, rather the country that I live in is fast becoming someone elses....
I give you some examples...
I leave my front door, and walk to Tesco's. Not a long walk but it takes about five minutes. So glad of the exercise after a day in the office or behind the wheel of the car. In that walk, I can hear no, I repeat NO, conversations in English. There are Chinese, Italian, Lithuanian and other East European languages... but NO English!!! I walk around Tesco's and again bump into people that are, how can I say this, NOT of English heritage....retracing my steps back to home... again no English spoken... and all of this in my country.
When I go to my local newsagent for the daily paper and or some smokes, he greets me with politeness that I cannot fault. A model citizen. A delight to chat to in those three seconds that we exchange cash for goods. Yet, sometimes I walk in and he is chatting on the phone in some guttural language that I cannot understand. I feel odd that I should intrude and ask for the daily ration of news and sustenance.
Mohammad is rapidly coming to be the most popular name in England outweighing Jack according to my newspaper that I have bought today. WHAT???? Seems like the propensity of Muslims and their desire to have large families have meant the change here. I mean, I like Curry but this is taking the biscuit (or should that be poppadum????)
Apparently the Football Association has made a report that 56% of all players in the premiership are foreign with some teams, like Arsenal, fielding complete sides with no British players at all (except in Arsenal's case they do have the young Theo kid....) . They called it 'Meltdown' and blamed our failure to qualify for the European Nations Cup on this. Imagine what it would be like if the whole country had 56% non British residents. Would there be rebellion on the streets, would arms be taken up, would there be questions in Parliament (you know that big brick building where the Scots guy is in charge...)?
I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that England is simply a refugee camp for the rest of the world.
More later...
I give you some examples...
I leave my front door, and walk to Tesco's. Not a long walk but it takes about five minutes. So glad of the exercise after a day in the office or behind the wheel of the car. In that walk, I can hear no, I repeat NO, conversations in English. There are Chinese, Italian, Lithuanian and other East European languages... but NO English!!! I walk around Tesco's and again bump into people that are, how can I say this, NOT of English heritage....retracing my steps back to home... again no English spoken... and all of this in my country.
When I go to my local newsagent for the daily paper and or some smokes, he greets me with politeness that I cannot fault. A model citizen. A delight to chat to in those three seconds that we exchange cash for goods. Yet, sometimes I walk in and he is chatting on the phone in some guttural language that I cannot understand. I feel odd that I should intrude and ask for the daily ration of news and sustenance.
Mohammad is rapidly coming to be the most popular name in England outweighing Jack according to my newspaper that I have bought today. WHAT???? Seems like the propensity of Muslims and their desire to have large families have meant the change here. I mean, I like Curry but this is taking the biscuit (or should that be poppadum????)
Apparently the Football Association has made a report that 56% of all players in the premiership are foreign with some teams, like Arsenal, fielding complete sides with no British players at all (except in Arsenal's case they do have the young Theo kid....) . They called it 'Meltdown' and blamed our failure to qualify for the European Nations Cup on this. Imagine what it would be like if the whole country had 56% non British residents. Would there be rebellion on the streets, would arms be taken up, would there be questions in Parliament (you know that big brick building where the Scots guy is in charge...)?
I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that England is simply a refugee camp for the rest of the world.
More later...
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