Firstly. I forgot to say in my last blog entry that all my darlings are now better and vomit free (I am touching quite a lot of wood while announcing this fact. In fact I am now a tree hugging kinda gal). I am very grateful to all you sympathisers out there who were kind enough to pop into my blog and wish me well. I am also feeling rather well myself, and with less than twenty four hours to go before my imminent escape from the children I am keeping everything crossed and trying to quarantine them in a small pen hoping that my wellness will remain well.
My friend has yet to turn up yet. Children have been fed. Golden Compass is still compassing. I thought I’d crack on with the weekly question time while I still have some relatively free time. We are ignoring the giant pile of washing up in the sink. It will give me something to do while Nicole and Tallulah stab each other with knitting needles.
It has been a slow week blog wise. I haven’t got the usual plethora of mad requests, ideas and random tat that usually appear in my stats list. I think this is because a) everyone is still reeling from the shock of it being the summer holidays and b) my prolific blogging has shrunk to a mere trickle and I am not being as topical as usual. Nevertheless I have culled what I can and here are the results of the Luxembourg jury:
Alien Fizz Pod Instructions:
I don’t know. I don’t know. I can’t even hazard a guess. I’m just so excited about the thought of alien fizz pods and what they might be, and why you might need instructions that I couldn’t wait to share it with you. I presume that reading any links my blog would have thrown up did not solve your problems, as to my knowledge I have never provided instructions to alien fizz pods, and this is not the sort of thing I am likely to forget. Where my car keys are, yes! How many beans make five, definitely. But not instructions of the alien fizz pod variety. So. If I don’t know the answer, why am I mentioning it? Because, because, because I really, really want to know what the instructions are/were. I am hoping that you, the instruction hunter, may want to look such things up again, type it into Google, come across this plea, and mail me to share with me your fizz pod joy. I want to know if it’s something you eat. I like things that fizz. Although maybe not aliens. I suppose it depends entirely on what flavour aliens they turn out to be. Turnip would be bad. Raspberry would be amazing.
Blueberries with dentures.
Fantastic. I just have this mental picture of these teeny, tiny blueberries with huge false grins. Grins bigger than the Cheshire Cat. Grins which split their tiny juicy bodies in two and which are exhausting to carry around. Or blueberries tucked up in bed with tiny Wee Willie Winkie style night caps and glasses of water with humungous denture based smiles poking out of the top. Perhaps blueberries can get free dentures on the NHS, along with support tights and trips to see their loved ones in high security prison. Awesome. Again, why this person was directed to me I have no idea. I have never owned a blueberry with dentures. In fact I detest blueberries because they taste all bitty and gritty and perfumey and wrong. They also stain things a worrying colour. Perhaps I’m being unfair to them. Perhaps the ones with dentures are delicious. Maybe they taste of raspberries, or turnips. Maybe they’re a hybrid and taste of turberries or raspbnips. Maybe I should shut up now and answer another question.
How many carbs does chess have?
I didn’t realise that you were on the Kasparov diet. How’s that working out for you? Are you on a black day or a white day? I would imagine that the board may be more carby than the pieces, depending on what the pieces are made from. I’ve always imagined that cardboard was quite densely packed with carbohydrate. Erroneously in all probability. After all my only nutritional guideline here is the fact that they both begin with the word ‘car’. The fundamental problem here is that you’re just not giving me enough to go on. I need information. Are you looking at a teak board with ivory pieces. Are you looking at a cardboard board with plastic pieces. Are we thinking of a chess board created entirely from remoulded doner kebabs, or maybe one made with Mr. Kiplings French Fancies. Write to me immediately and let me know your thoughts.
How to make a dog pooh.
Get down on your knees, look it in the eye, abase yourself and say: ‘Dear dog (or insert name of your choice if you are indeed on first name terms with the canine), I would really, really like you to do a lovely pooh for me. I would be very grateful if you could produce one when I blow into this whistle and shout; ‘Ready, Steady, Go!’ If you do this for me I will give you an entire box of Scooby Snacks and a dried pig’s ear as a gesture of my appreciation. Yours truly (insert your own name here).’
Melt a Snickers bar in the microwave. Scoop up the remains in a kind of log shaped puddle kind of way and then let it harden in the fridge. Now throw it on the lawn, walk towards it, step on it, scream and then spend half an hour shunting your shoe along the grass verge whilst moaning.
Help, I want to meet Celine Dion.
You do need help. I would advise a dash to the nearest hospital with a secure psychiatric unit and suicide watch.
Free French Grannies.
Is this a BOGOF offer? Buy one Ukranian granny and get a free French Granny. Maybe you know something we don’t and the reason for the upswing in the French economy is the fact that Sarkozy has all the French grannies locked up in a giant granny asylum and is feeding them air and turnip juice. This would free up all the pension money to allow his lady love to become a supermodel nude French rock star extraordinaire and boost the economy by millions with the profit from her debut album, entitled: ‘I am a supermodel nude French rockstar extraodinaire and if you don’t buy my record I will kidnap your granny and feed her turnip juice.’ Or maybe the lorry drivers who are taking the French grannies to the asylum are striking and burning granny carcasses by the side of the road, demanding the return of their sheep.
Do goats eat pickles?
In my extensive experience of the world of goats (my ex boyfriend’s mother had two nanny goats and two baby goats) they will eat bloody anything. Pickles are the least of your worries. Pickles are a mere bagatelle in the world of goat based cuisine. Just make sure that your clothes line is strung up between Mount Everest and K2 and that you like the blitzed wasteland look for your garden.
Paul Weller doesn’t like Jimmy Page.
What can you do though eh? They’ve never been the same since that game of table football in 1975. Just because Jimmy had the most agile fingers in rock doesn’t mean he won’t mess up his defence if he’s wasted on smack. Everyone knows that smack makes for sloppy table football players. Weller should never have gone there in the first place. He was a fool to himself.
My child has a nit, can she go swimming?
Just the one? Are you sure it’s a nit and not a goat? Or a turnip? It’s unlikely to be one if it is a nit. Nits tend to herd together in packs you know. Still I’d let her go swimming. If there are other nits around they will run to the top of her head and form a nit pyramid to escape the incoming tide. That way you will definitely know one way or the other. If it’s a goat she’ll probably sink when the goat hysterically tries to leap for the shore, thus ridding you of your problem neatly. You’ll have to keep her in for a long time if it’s not goats. Nits can hold their breath for about an hour apparently. They’re in the Guinness book of World Records. They have photos of nits with little puffy cheeks and starey eyes. Obviously taken with the aid of an electron microscope. Goats, for the record, are not very good at holding their breath. It’s their little beards. It tickles them and makes them involuntarily open their mouth to have a good giggle. That bleating is actually the hilarious sound of goat laughter echoing through the hills. Just ask Heidi.
What does Celine Dion look like?
- A menace to society
- A spoon in a wig
- A French Canadian pop diva wearing some dressing up clothes for a bet.
- All of the above
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