Let's get this one out of the way first - on Tuesday the 'Word of the day' from dictionary.com was effulgence - to radiate brightly. Later that day whilst listening to Bushwacka's fine breakbeat CD, The Everlasting, I found effulgent as one of the few lyrics featured on the album.

Onto the main course. I've become aware of a possible comeback for the aftershave of teenage Christmas's past - Brut33. And if you were an embarrassing uncle who loves puns, you might say that it has again become the "Odour of the Day". Followed by hollow silence and a quick, "Ahem". Anyway, I went down to the bank last night and as I walked past the Punch Bowl pub (which actually alludes to the violence that will be served upon you whilst in there rather than any kind of alcoholic drink) I was roughly assailed by the stench of fags and Brut33 wafting out the door. It was almost visible, like a Bisto waft. And you know how smells are very powerful memory stimulators, well whenever I smell Brut all I can think of is Henry Cooper in a dressing gown (before you get the wrong idea, I'm talking about the old 70's advert) and surely that image in a woman's mind is going to do absolutely nothing for a chap on the pull. So the next morning, feeling only slightly fragile from the previous night's work outing, I clambered up the steps onto the company bus and was again nasally raped by 'the Brut'. Two Indian chaps at the front of the bus absolutely reeking of the stuff. And then when I get to work I'm walking behind a guy that's obviously been the target of some practical joke, where a bucket of Brut was tipped over his head as he walked out this front door this morning. Where the hell's it coming from? It made me wonder if there's been a 'Whisky Galore' \The Wreckers style incident in Abingdon, where the locals have lured a barge of Brut onto the rocks in the Marina so they could plunder the booty. I'm hoping it's just another coincidence though as my olfactory senses are far too gentile for such smells I'd thought were dead and buried in my painful teenage past.

More repeat occurrences now - 'little folk' this time. Toby saw a dwarf on Saturday in town and as happens with most 3 year olds couldn't help but shout out, "Look at that man mummy!!" as loudly as he could possibly manage. I wasn't there but in these type of situations the usual procedure of bundling the boy into a nearby shop was engaged. About 20 minutes later I picked them up outside Hadleighs in Abingdon (THE oldest, weirdest, "how-is-it-still-going-ist" shop in town. They sell light bulbs, fuses, fans and plugs. And everything is sort of yellowy from age and from being in the sun. Including the bloke that runs it). As I struggled to get Toby into his car seat he started shouting, "Look Dad, a funny man, a funny man Dad, look!!" over and over again. I was more interested in getting him into the car and off the busy road, so when I did finally get him strapped in and turned round, I found the dwarf chap was standing right behind me. I felt so bad I nearly shrank to the same size as him. Then I smiled feebly and quickly drove off. Toby couldn't stop talking about him all the way to Newbury and Sarah and I struggled to satiate his curiosity and continuous questions about "why would anyone want to be that small?". That's one of those kids questions that makes an assumption, which you need to correct before you can answer what you think is their real question - "nobody wants to be that small Toby". We parked up in Newbury walked into town and as we got onto the High Street, at the top of his voice Toby cried, "Not again!!!". There was another, different (thank God), dwarf standing right in front of us:-

"The earthquake felt in the Newbury area last Saturday measured 3.4 on the Richter scale and was generated by the ground opening up and swallowing a small family from Abingdon."

Me? At the moment, wasting my life away watching the complete series of Scrubs and playing online Call Of Duty, which my ISP seems to hate as I keep getting disconnected when playing a game. To the other players it probably looks like I'm a petulant flitter who disconnects from a game as soon as they get killed (which is quite often), but that is not true. I actually disconnect the split second after I kill someone so I can leave on a high note. Unless I kill a team mate, then I disconnect immediately, kill the internet connection, turn off the PC and go upstairs and hide under my duvet. I don't trust some of these online geek-gamers. They'll probably track me down through my IP, hunt me to a forest and chase me bare-chested into one of their willow-sprung deer traps. Nutters.

Which tenuous army connection might lead me on to my current and ongoing camouflage interest. I have the massive, ridiculously priced Maharishi camo-bible, which I'm wading through at present. I like the compiler Hardy Blechman's ethos that he is trying to reclaim the camouflage design from the military with it's violent associations and bring it back to artistic associations. What I also like is when I wear any item of clothing with camouflage on it to work, a camo design t-shirt for instance, and a colleague will say, "Oh, Jason, I didn't see you there". Whereas before I could muster a polite work-chuckle, I now reply, "I'm so bored with that "joke"". There's not even enough energy in the reply for it to be withering. I'm a miserable bugger.

Couple of small syncro-incidences (as I will now call them):

1. Watched a crazy program on bulimia on BBC2 last night called 'Bingers'. I can't comment on it because my views would be seen as chauvinistic, insensitive and emotional (can that happen?). But anyway, within the program, one of the sufferers pinned all their hopes of salvation on a drug called Zofran (used to suppress nausea in chemo patients). When the program finished I continued watching Scrubs Series 1 and in the first episode I saw, a patient get's prescribed...yep, Zofran.
2. Yesterday I also related a sketch to Rich from Ricky Gervais' Politics DVD about a friend of his (Ricky's) that worked in a hospital and had to treat a guy who was admitted with a bottle of sauce up his arse. In that same episode of Scrubs the new interns are laughing over a number of "ass slides" the first of which shows a bottle in someone's pelvic region (ie, up their arse\ass)

Richie Rich actually deserves an honourable mention for one of the fastest quips I've ever experienced. Have a look at this website, check the 'Look At This Dog' link. To point out the obvious, he's taking the mick out of hip-hop slang (where acquaintances are called dog or dawg), as by following the link you do actually end up looking at a golden retriever dog. "That's irony" I said in mock-awe. "No that's Goldie" replied Rich. Stunned silence from me as time ground to a standstill, a pearlescent sunbeam broke through the gossamer clouds above and illuminated this lexical champion's face, radiant with a glow touched by the gods and captured forever in time. Genius immortalized. Then he went off for a slash.

You gotta love that anagram generator. My wife - AK Barrack's Hash Bong