Bit of a mopup for you today as I jot down stuff that has been accumulating over the past week or so. Whilst at the infant school I mentioned yesterday, I saw a couple of other pieces done by the students up on the walls, which raised a titter. They must have had to invent superheroes during a lesson. The 2 funniest were Fishman and Ladybird Girl.

First, Fishman -

"he got bit by a fish and didn't feel well. Then he became Fishman and get's crooks with his fish punch". A pretty lame superhero if ever I heard of one. Not much use if the crime being committed isn't near water and he also didn't explain how he punches with a flipper. Would have definitely given that idiot detention and made him clean out the school fish bowl.

Then, Ladybird Girl -

"she lives in a tower (like it; a bit like a Bat Cave kind of idea), she can fly (obviously, she's a Ladybird, but a useful power nonetheless) and she can throw black spots at people (erm, exactly how useful is that going to be fighting, say, Green Goblin with his exploding pumpkins, or Sabre Tooth who will beat the living shit out of you whether you turn his jumper into polka dots or not), even old people". So she'll fight old people by throwing black spots at them, like that's going to be effective. They'll probably think they're having a dizzy spell or getting cataracts. Detention for you as well...cleaning the black spots off the toilets.

Have you seen people doing those exaggerated yawns whilst someone is talking to them? Not so as to indicate their boredom, but more to try and convey an air of nonchalance. I don't mean to sound like I've just identified a new trend, it's been going on for years. You've probably done one yourself. I'm pretty sure I have at some point. It's body language that often says, "I'm exaggerating the impression I want to give you, which is that I am so laidback and unaffected by you and your presence that I am actually extremely relaxed and in fact am getting quite sleepy". Like they are subconciously reacting to the fear that they may be showing too much of their real feelings of attraction and want to appear aloof and indifferent in case the feeling is not reciprocated. People do it all the time at work, whilst I'm watching them and their ways like some kind of Desmond Morris stalker-type.

Following on from my day at Brighton beach with Cuban Pete: we went on the pier, the one that hasn't burnt down into twisted scrap metal rusting in the surf, and had a "fun" time. There were shacks selling piles of roast beef. A machine that inspected your handwriting for two pounds fifty. Old people collapsed on deck chairs. Clouds of gulls threatening to pluck children and their cotton candy off the pier. People dressed as ABBA to promote the Bjorn Again show that night. Fat female proles with tats and drug dealing husbands. Time Crisis 3/House of the Dead 2 arcade games. And a karaoke bar. A karaoke bar that, at 11.30am, was almost half full. It was a spectacle. The guy on stage singing "Feelings" obviously didn't have any and neither did anyone else in the bar, otherwise they would have killed themselves on his behalf due to the brain curdling emotion vacuum that was his most passionate attempt at "singing" a "song". The weird thing was that he was one of a party of about 10 blokes that were constantly up on stage, hogging the lager-and-lime light. I would not have ever suggested to my mates going to a bloody karaoke bar, sober, during the day, at the end of the pier with people constantly wandering in and taking the piss (like me) and then leaving. Laughing. Hard. The point we did leave at was the 2 (heterosexual) blokes singing a Blue song to each other; call and response style. It was all a bit too weird. A bit too "Deliverance" if you know what I mean. And we were a long way from shore...

Too much eBaying; can only offer you this little diary/story excerpt that I saw whilst repairing computers in an infant school. It's the pretend diary of a sailor on one of Christopher Columbus' ships and I think it's funny.

Monday - Today we were very tired and stressed the whether was awful
Tuesday - We saw a seagull and all kids of birds. It's hard even doing this (!?)
Wednesday - The whether is worse. I'm freezing we have to sleep on sacs. Columbus has a nice comfy bed.
Thursday - We are cross with Columbus hiss men (Columbus's men). The whether is the worst I've seen and we saw a big big seagull and we were far far away from land.
Friday - We were still far far away from land which we didn't like at all, we were nearly crieing
Saturday - We mopped and cleaned and worked very hard all you can think of but all we saw was a seagull
Sunday - The whether was worse I hated it all. At last they found land we all cheared but when he came he told us of and we all cryed

So, the moral of the story is: work hard and you may see a seagull, and try not to cry.

OK, I think I'm getting over my fear that I have a degenerative brain disease as I appear to be able to focus, hold a thought for longer than 3 seconds and am able to uh, ummm, what was it.....errrr, concentrate! That's it, concentrate for longer than about a minute.

Went to visit my old mate Cuban Pete in Brighton on Sunday. Got there eventually after nearly running out of diesel on the M25. I turned off near Horsley and Oakham to try and find a petrol station. Found one at 7.15am, but had to wait until 9.00am for it to open. Bum holes. I spent the time chatting to a Bosnian security guard called Yuri who was very funny and very garrulous; time flew. We nearly incurred the wrath of a one armed bloke pushing what I call a Romanian baby carriage (one of those big old 1950's style pushchairs that are sprung on huge metal wishbones like the one that bounces down the steps in 'Battleship Potemkin'). Yuri was talking very loudly about this bloke and suggested we give him a hand (!). Anyway, he started shouting and gesticulating with his prosthetic arm which had a massive split hook on the end. I got back in my car and pretended to quizzically inspect my fuel gauge for a couple of minutes till he went away.

I was about 3 hours late when I got to Brighton Record Fair, but still managed to pick up some choice items. Pete and I went for a wander and came across quite a few street sellers selling those Simpson cut-outs that "dance" to music. Brief description if you haven't seen them (mainly for people that have been in solitary confinement for the past 10 years) - they are 4-5 inch high card cut-outs of Bart, Homer, Lisa etc with string legs and what look like small round magnets for feet. They are always positioned next to a stereo playing loud music and they stand, apparently of their own accord, "dancing" to the music. I quite unashamedly admit that I didn't know how they worked (but had enough sense to realise that it was some kind of con) until Pete explained that they are attached to fishing wire which runs from a small motor on the back of the stereo across to a small sandwich board on the other side. As the motor goes round the wire oscillates and the figure appears to dance. Now I know why they always stand with their backs to the wall. What a bloody con!! And people were handing over £1 coins by the dozen while we watched. The sellers obviously know that when they get them home and the excited kids try to stand them up whilst playing loud music, they're just going to flop down. I found it very funny to watch the sellers making a huge profit by conning people so blatantly and people amazingly were handing over money; no questions asked. I'd love to have been a fly on the wall at these houses when they get them home to try them out.

Pun Monkey he write - "If we have spells of patchy rain, does that constitute an Indian Summer?" Patchy/Apache? Yeah?

I was in the toilet today washing my hands and the guy next to me wearing sandals and sporting a humungous beard washed his hands and then rinsed out his mouth, which might not appear odd to you, but it was noted by my good self. Then an asian guy on the left of me did exactly the same thing, which did raise my level of interest. Quick poke around on Google revealed that both men were probably Muslim and that they were observing wudu. I'm just glad they didn't clean their perineum in the sink as well. I know I'm tempting the twin Boeings of Islam when I poke fun at the religion.......but anyway, check this out. Point 7 is my favourite.

My other observations today were that Appletise is the regulation drink for those driving their workmates to the pub at lunchtime. So, no easily coerced, no-mates work-"mates": no Appletise factory. The end.

It has long been a fact that I enjoy adverts much more than actual TV programs. And I have recently realised that, rather than fearing that I was a shallow, sallow youth easily brainwashed by the advertising executives (they were barking up the wrong beanpole; I was skint), I should have boasted my appreciation of the insight and awareness of the psychological manipulation that was being attempted in those precious 30 seconds. Kids like adverts cos they're succint, punchy and direct. They also do what most programs and films don't do, and that's get an idea or a message across to the viewer in a much more realistic and effective timeframe. You have a semi-good idea? Don't get some St Martins in the Fartins, hoxton finned knobstick to present a confusing, art house epic; sell your soul to The Man and jam it into a 30 second blipvert for popping candy or plastic robots. Yay! I'll buy them! Thirst for variety and a channel hopping mentality that wants to cram 100 experiences into an hour instead of 1, led me to this CD; Jaguar Skills. As soon as I heard the old LWT TV theme I was.....SOLD! "Always believe in your soul..."

Normal service will be resumed........tomorrow!!

To heal.

It takes time.

Bad things happen.

I carved a thick tree branch into a rough Easter Island sculpture yesterday; didn't look too bad, if I say so myself. I may move on to the solid wood chair that I've always wanted to carve. It's just an excuse to use a hand axe actually - I can see why Ray Mears has such a good time.

Car boot day today as you well know. Saw a very sad individual there today and very individual he was too. I would imagine this bloke is probably one of the only people in the country (for more than one reason) to make garden furniture and ornaments from horse shoes. Primary reason being that they are shit. I must admit that I can't recall the full scale of items that he had "shod", as it were, as I was laughing so much that I had to move on before he demonstrated another of the ex-horseshoe's versatile uses by throwing one at my head. I do remember the huge flower tubs made entirely from horseshoes which, stop me if I'm wrong, aren't going to hold any earth at all due to the massive bloody gaps you get when you try and weld horseshoes together, side by side or on top of each other. Take for example the horseshoe table. You can already see the design flaw in your minds eye can't you? A glass or mug placed on the table will, conveniently, fall straight through the glass or mug shaped hole that is framed by the traditional shape of the horseshoe. Another stroke of genius was the horseshoe bench. An ordinary common or garden ('scuse the pun) bench, with the wooden slats replaced with metal supports to enable him to then weld about 50 horseshoes onto the seat. Oh right, because it's much more comfortable to sit on these cast iron horseshoes than it is a cushion ("Unless it's a horseshoe cushion!", I hear you retort).

There was also a trio of "summer-jumper" paedo's hanging around as well with eyes too close together and bunches of keys hanging off their belts. If they're thinking that that displays some kind of authority, they should try something a bit more basic to begin with; like bathing regularly.

Scouting around for records like I do, I always come across the same titles and I would like to ban them. Here's my top ten most hated:

1. Music from the Greek Islands - hey I know, instead of smashing plates, smash this record, then your stereo, then all your other records. You buy this crap, you don't deserve to listen to music!!
2. Anything by Mantovani - what sort of past hell did people live in where all they listened to was Manto-friggin-vani?!
3. South Pacific - this must have been a real popular soundtrack, before they regularly exploded H-bombs in the atolls.
4. Camelot - this film/show is shit. Knights don't sing. They bludgeon people to death, not songs.
5. Kensington - it's not even a bloody record!! It's a 12"x12" sized, after dinner board game from the 70's!!
6. Anything by Klaus Wunderlich - he plays that wurlitzer organ thing that rises from the theatre floor in places like Blackpool. And Hades.
7. Spandau Ballet/Alison Moyet/Paul Young - do people have no shame, displaying the fact that they spent money on this shite? Now they want me to pay them to take it away. It's all wrong.
8. All country music - apart from Islands In The Stream, it's all morose twangling for the cowboy booted drunk. Don't just sing about it, go on, top yourself.
9. Herb Alpert - Don't get me wrong, I like the guy, but when his is every 10th record you look at, you feel like sticking that trumpet up his arse.
10. The King and I - because it gives me the chance to say, "etc, etc, etc"

Can you make sure that all these records are removed from the next car boot I go to please otherwise I might go 'postal' with a replica samurai sword. Made of horseshoes.

Hot damn! I didn't necessarily WANT to buy the limited edition Futura 2000 sticky tape from Maharishi; I just don't like being told that I CAN'T (primarily because they sold out). Got my consumer rush though by buying a Futura mouse mat instead. What a dork.

I really want to go to the UNKLE ICA thing (yes, even though I don't like the album) in September. Trouble is it's just when all the schools go back and work is usually deluged with network support calls so time off is a no-no. They can spin on a fat one though if they think I'm missing out on the chance to blow money I don't have on "limited edition" UNKLE exclusives that I can't afford and will lock away preciously in my attic. Yessir.

And you know what? Donnie Darko on DVD and ice cold Stella beats tapping a keyboard on a Saturday night hands down, so Adios and cahones.

You would have thought that I would have something to write about after a 2 day hiatus. You would have thought.

My main thought for the 2 days that I was out on site at 2 comprehensive schools was that I had heard that the reason kids were so unruly these days, was because they weren't afraid of anything anymore. Namely, the now non-existent threat of getting a highly flexible, well polished cane thrashed across their backsides making them cry like girls. And if they are already girls, making them cry like babies. And if they are babies, you're wasting your time, cos you won't be making much of an impact through that 4 inch thick Pampers Pull-up. Anyway, kids aren't scared of teachers, because if a teacher so much as raises a hand against the kid (even if it's to deflect the chair that the pupil has just hurled at them), they're down the dole office without a paddle to stand on. Or something. Which is why I think religious schools are a good idea, y'know - Fear O' God an' all that, as long as you can do a religionectomy once the child has matured enough. The last thing you want is the adolescent stage to pass without incident, only for them to grow up to be mentalist religious militants. I believe you should be stepping in somewhere along the line to prevent the fruition of hardcore fanaticism that leads to extremes such as vapourising themselves and the bus queue they're standing in with 20 sticks of TNT gaffa-taped to their head. No matter how frustrating it is waiting for a late bus, scattering body parts along the pavement is simply not the way to protest about the poor punctuality of public transport. No, I reckon; ages 5 to 15, scare them shitless with tales of brimstone and treacle (foul stuff), eternal damnation for rudeness, an infinity of torture for chewing in class, that sort of thing. Then when they're scared to even go to the toilet in case God thinks they're off to "play the banjo" (i.e have a w*nk), tell them that it was all a big story and that the Bible/Koran/whatever is simply the worlds best selling work of fiction and they can forget all about it. Problem, quite literally, solved. Amen.

If you are a smoker, what do you think when you see all those labels on fag packets these days that says things like, "SMOKING KILLS", "By smoking, you are harming those around you", "Did you know that you're paying corporate fat cats for the pleasure of dying of cancer", "Are you stupid?", "Feeling dead yet?" etc etc. Do you get embarrassed? I often think that the anti-smoking attitude breeds an unhealthy defiance in smokers, which (excuse the pun) clouds the issue.
I saw an anti smoking ad on a packet of 5 cigars in TESCO yesterday that said, "Smoking while pregnant harms your baby". On a packet of 6 inch cigars? Hmm, that warning must have been marketed for the type of drunk, tattooed, cigar smoking trucker-mum I see shouting at their truanting kids on the council estate near where I live. Not sure that they can even read, so you may be completely wasting your time there NHS.

And who is the vagrant under the Hammersmith flyover that was, "Done over by local vermin"? Surely there has to be better places to set up home?

Time went so slowly today that I looked at the clock at 3.00pm and I'm certain the second hand went backwards for a second. Then I got home and my e-mail system had gone up the swanny. "Rough as a big bad muff" as Boner would say. On the plus side, I may be getting a promotion; Senior Engineer. Winner!

Okaaaayyy. 101 degrees yesterday. Too hot for me mate! Too hot to have Toby absently clambering over me all the time when he's drinking his milk. Will he ever sit still? I feel like going to sleep all the time and I've got loads of training courses to go on at work with monotone bore-monsters droning on at me for hours on end and I'm thinking, "Isn't this heat affecting you? Don't you have the awareness to think, "I might need to pep up this shit boring lecture a bit, what with the hot weather making everyone lethargic an' all"". But they just whine on thoughtlessly like flies in the hot, dry desert; tsetse flies, the ones that bring sleeping sickness. That's it! They've infected me with their foul ichors, trying to enslave me and force me into their hypnotic, buzzing mass. They must all die! They must be swatted and stamped out! No mercy for the insects, all will perish!!! See, it is hot.

I'm hoping that the raised mole on my arm is because I've bitten by some flying beastie as well and not the beginning of skin cancer. I have been out in the blistering heat quite a bit, which is what's causing the worry, but the mole appears to be weeping a light amber coloured liquid now and again, which sounds more like a bite, but isn't itchy at all so I'm really not sure.

Another popular misspelling I see is 'advise' instead of 'advice'. Weird to confuse that one I think, because if you were to only read it you'd see, 'ise' sounds like 'eyes', but 'ice' sounds like, well, 'ice'. Also, don't bother using these words; they don't exist - trialled, trialling and resourced. So what is the past and present tense of 'trial'?

At work today some 'person' successfully married two of my most hated things and performed one of my most hated actions* with this 'thing'. I.e. - brought, from home into the office*, a music box (1) that plays Yesterday by The Beatles (2). Jesus Christ on a Shetland pony. Could you jab a white hot needle into my testicles and pour boiling acid into my ears while you're at it? Why in Lords name would you want to bring such a travesty to the creativity of the human race into the office in order to broadcast to your peers and colleagues what a pathetic and feeble minded mong muppet you are and that you have no discernible taste, sense of shame or ability to think to yourself, "This is probably something I should keep at home, for when I'm feeling lonely and suicidal. Then when I finally pluck up the courage to kill myself, I can torch the whole house with me and my "magical" music box of shite, thereby safeguarding my family from the exposure of my shameful obsession with shoddy, overpriced mail-order trinkets".

Final thought: most people complain about being treated like a number. Unless of course that number is number 1.

"Scuse me while I kiss this guy". No I didn't really think that was what Jimi Hendrix was singing in Purple Haze, honest.

At the moment Toby quite often smells of toffee apples or vanilla biscuits. He had a good time today I think, messing around with a hosepipe at his Nana's. Jose Couldn't Careless I call him. He managed to smear himself in paint as well and looked like a bit of an aborigine around the garden. Maybe he invoked some sort of rain bringing ritual in his aborigine disguise, as shortly afterwards we had a massive thunderstorm. I caught some of the lightning on camera; the thunder was setting off car alarms all round the estate, or was that the TWOCcers?

Ever noticed how some words often get bundled together? Suave and sophisticated; instigate and riot; sporadic and gunfire; create and havoc.

Also, a quick piece of advice for TV salesmen. Don't leave the widescreen TVs on programmes that aren't being broadcast in widescreen; it looks shit. People aren't interested in TVs that stretch their favourite actor's face's so they look like overblown balloons. Don't do it, alright?

Hot damn, summer in the city, crack o my ass getting dirty and gritty. Lively up yerself irie, gwaan an tings. Hear me now! Yes I have bought the Sean Paul CD and it is ruuude. Or something. Have you seen the dancers in his Like Glue video? Row the boat, row the boat, signal the plane now signal the plane. Wicked.

Is it hot where you are? Cos it's goddam hot here. It's so hot that I had to have the window open last night, which was a Friday, and it was great. I could hear all the drunken idiots yelling to each other that, "You're all right you are mate, you're a pal" and "I fookin love you" and "Feeling hot hot hot!!". Some timewarped moron was plaing Niravana's Nevermind album over and over, then topped it off with Forrest's Rock The Boat - well I'll give him marks for variety.

Managed to change the alternator on the car today, just as the sun moved into position directly over my head, lowering itself to what felt like about 20 metres above me. Took it for a quick spin to test it was charging OK and drove past this bloke with the hairiest back I have ever seen - Wolverine style. I was looking at him absently as I drove along and for some reason howled as I went past. I saw him spin round in my rear view mirror and felt a bit bad; he wasn't supposed to hear me. Better check it's not a full moon tonight, he might come after me. Maybe I'll leave some Chum out to put him off the scent.

Yay. Today I will tell you about Stu. Or Disco Stu as he has monikered himself - after the Simpsons character. Don't you already hate the way he has given himself a nickname? His best "mate" at work is VJ. VJ is the only one that can stand him for any length of time; Stu pisses so many people off at work that VJ is the only one that will come crawling back to him on a regular basis. They have a kind of marital relationship, not in any kind of sexual way, but in their manner towards each other. VJ is definitely the bitch. Stu has a very loud voice and uses it often to broadcast various pieces of information and opinions that he simply can't keep to himself. The only time he is quiet is when he's surreptitiously looking for pictures of girls in Google Images. I can see him from where I sit and most people can hear him from wherever they are in the office. He has this extremely pedantic and condescending manner which makes you want to lamp him one, but he would probably tell you you had a weak punch and your stance was all wrong, just before he burst into tears; he's just a coward after all behind the bully facade. He has a motorbaike and a car. You can tell when he's come in on his bike because he wears his leathers into the office like a total knob. I think he thinks he looks a bit menacing; like a stormtrooper or something, but everyone else is thinking, "Why are you wearing a massive leather suit over your normal clothes around the office when it's about 25 degrees?". It was his birthday the other day and he brought in a birthday card (I mean, who the hell brings IN their own birthday cards?). It played the Ghostbusters theme. Why? He played it to 7 people for gods sake!

Mooooon river...

Main highlight today was being trained on RAID arrays. Jealous aren't you? The guy behind me in the training room was wearing the sort of ornate leather sandals that you usually see the Greek-like aliens wear in the old series' of Star Trek and the only thing that was keeping me awake was the squeak from the chair next to me as the guy rocked back and forth in a slightly deranged state. The un-exceptionally monotone delivery from the Stacey Keach look-a-like trainer literally battered me into a submissive slumber. I nodded off twice. Oops.

Push me and then just touch me...

Too hot to do anything yesterday but complain and feel sleepy - much the same as today really. Had a weird dream the night before about kicking ping pong balls around a sports hall. The tinny noise they made as they bounced reached an unbearable crescendo and I woke up. Had a dream last night that I met Bill Clinton. He was dressed as a major and was shaking the hands of everyone in the office. He went to shake the hand of a severely reticent lady on my right, but she wouldn't look at him. She had inch long nosehair protruding from her nostrils, which he ignored, but which made me feel sick.

Money found-on-the-ground so far (started 21/07/03)= £1.47

Sorry to go on about toilet related stuff, but some bloke in a cubicle yesterday sounded like he was puncturing basketballs with a pitchfork. Do these people have no shame?

Have you ever heard of people lassoing flies? Somehow you knockout a fly (using that stuff they use to sedate bee hives?) lay it on it's back, tie silk thread round one or all of it's legs, tie the other end to your finger. When the disease ridden little critter wakes up and tries to fly off he will only get as far as his tether. Repeat this many times to have a bevvy of buzzing bluebottles at your fingertips and become the, errr, envy?, of your friends. Should you have any left.

Here's another coincidence for you (not that you're probably interested, whoever 'you' are). I was looking up a film called Shaolin Soccer that Disney have apparently bought the rights to remake and I came across a guy listing his top 5 films, which were pretty lame. Good films, just not an inspiring Top 5 to go to lengths to publish. Star Wars, Raiders of the Lost Ark, The Godfather, something else famous and then Red River. I'd never heard of it, but apparently it's a John Huston western featuring John Wayne. I made a note to try and track it down at some point. Next day it was on BBC2. I hadn't seen any programme listings or adverts for it and wasn't consciously aware of it's existence before seeing the website. Shoot, it's the work of the devil I tell ya!

I have learned that babies and toddlers are not aware of how bad their poo stinks. Toby was about as willing to have his nappy changed yesterday as a greased pig is to being hog-tied. When I finally pinned him down and managed to get both his ankles between finger of thumb of my left hand and wrench the offending "diaper" off, the stench that accosted me was like being slapped in the face; it kind of put me into a higher level of consciousness. A mixture of panic and revulsion. It made me think that no-one would choose to be mired in that kind of filth for longer than is necessary and weighing up that, although the nappy changing is very quick and painless, he would choose this delirium inducing stink over 30 seconds on his back getting his nappy changed. Therefore, the smell to him can't be that bad, but more importantly, it does not mean anything to him. Therefore I surmise that it is once you connect the smell with the origin and understand what you're smelling and where it's come from and then apply the social taboo to that, you then arrive at the disgust. Which in turn stops you, hopefully, playing with the dung (and also anything else that smells that bad in general) and protects you from the associated health risks and alienation from fellow humans that have already gone through this learning process. Quite an involved observation once you get into it. I don't mean get into IT, y'know, the poo, I mean the observation.

And so, many websites poo poo (excuse the pun) the idea that sleeping with the window open gives you a sore throat do they? Well it happens to me every time. Even when I don't know the window's open, I still wake up with a rough/scratchy throat, so it's not psychological. One explanation is that the drop in temperature during the night lowers your body temp and makes you more susceptible to the ever present cold virus. I can understand the reasoning behind this totally, except that I have a very high immune system and very rarely get any kind of infection or cold anyway (last one was probably 2 years ago), so 4 or 5 hours breathing cold air to trigger the sore throat doesn't seem that likely in my case. Strange. Colds are more prevalent in winter because people don't open windows to circulate stagnant, cold virus ridden air and are also in close proximity with others in warm rooms and buildings. And kissing each other under the mistletoe. With tongues. And spit.

One of Sarah's friends (an eccentric dressmaker that made her wedding dress; which wasn't eccentric) gave her a small tube of Crema di Salmone e Tartufo Bianco for her birthday. I now know that this is salmon paste with truffle oil. And it bloody reeks. I can only think that it's used for baiting cat traps (or reviving corseted women from faints) because of it's all pervading fish odour. I squirted some out onto a slice of bread and it hung down in the same way that fish poo hangs out of a fish's bum hole when it's swimming around. In this case it was as if the fish had been fed on a diet of garlic, truffles and sulphur. It absolutely stank. I realised then that we must have done something to really piss her off for her to send us this small tube of concentrated foulness. Although she does have a habit of sending us items of dubious origin from her larder which are borderline out of date, so perhaps she just doesn't like us generally and we're not taking the hint. Anyway, I threw the bread in the bin. About 10 minutes later Sarah asked, "What the hell is that smell?!!". So I put the bag in the bin outside. From the back garden we could almost see the wave of stink snaking over the fence from the bin bag, like in the old Bisto advert. So, I had to put the bag in another bag and put it out for the bin men. They came round, picked it up and have had to now incinerate the entire lorry as they were being attacked by seagulls on the way to the tip. I imagine that the ashes from that little tube are polluting aquifers within a 10 mile radius of the landfill as I write this, so I apologise now if you're drinking water in 10 years time has a slight fish oil tang.

Bugger. I'm back at work.