I lost the will to answer questions there for a few weeks, but now that Friday afternoons are mine again we are all systems go.
Just to recap on the rules:
- You punch random questions/sentences/symbols into Google.
- Sometimes Google directs you to my blog.
- You are amazed and astounded.
- You may or may not come back again.
- My blog makes a list of all of your visits using your phrases or questions.
- I read them every week because I am anal like that.
- I pick out the ones I like and attempt to answer/randomly gibber about them.
I stole the idea from Anna Pickard at Little Red Boat, whose blog is on my blog roll or here.
Bevchen who is also a blogger at Confuzzledom, sometimes indulges in it too. You can find her here, doing that very thing.
So (cracks fingers like ace world war one pianist about to begin mission), here goes. Bear with me. It might be a bit rusty this week.
Are scrofles itchy?
To be honest, when I talked to you about scrofles (here) I thought I had made up the word scrofles all by my rown. I was incredibly proud of myself. I thought, in between thinking about how much my fucking head itched, that I might write a nice letter to those jolly people at the OED and suggest that they put the word scrofles in their next tome, entitled S to T (Scrofles to Trombones) and put a small picture of me, smiling in tights, right next to it. Now I find that either I have invented it at the same time as someone else who is clearly suffering from something similar, or that the word already exists and I have merely appropriated it. I am quite sad about this.
Because I potentially invented the word, I have no idea if there are indeed, non-imaginary scrofles, whether they are in fact itchy. All I can say is, my scrofles were very, very itchy indeed. They are no longer itchy. I am, it seems, scrofle free. I suggest ringing the editor of ‘Scrofulous Weekly: First for Scrofles’ and having a chat with him.
How can I make myself go into labour?
Your best bet is to really not want to go into labour. That would work. Try booking a slot climbing Everest and doing it whilst wearing stout support tights, some kind of body stocking and an inconvenient harness. I bet you a fiver you’ll be hanging off an escarpment in minus forty when your water’s break, miles from the nearest hospital. Other options include:
Starting a new job in which it is crucial you attend this training course or the job might as well be in Swahili without subtitles. You will be in labour as soon as the squeaky pen hits the whiteboard to write the facilitator’s name.
Having your house redecorated and having to live out of a suitcase on bare boards with only a futon and a can opener for company. As soon as the workmen have severed a water pipe, turned off the gas and gone away for a bank holiday weekend, you will go into labour.
Taping all the episodes of your favourite programme and waiting to watch them all in the same day. Just when the cliff hanger starts in the very last programme is also an excellent time to be rushed to hospital. You will have to be prized from the sofa, screaming blue murder. As you exit for the labour ward, someone will then tape over the last episode.
How to have a good sleepover.
- Free valium for the under tens and over thirties.
- Poking your eyes out with a stick, whilst simultaneously bursting both ear drums with bent coathangers.
- Only having sleepovers for new mothers, without children in tow.
- Having them at other people’s houses.
- Free bottle of gin for every child.
- Making sure you play, let’s all be mummies using masking tape just before bedtime.
Shouting at shrews.
This seems rather unfair. Shrews are generally fairly harmless creatures that bimble about fainting of shock every time a bumble bee farts. They have weak hearts, chronic anxiety and probably flatulence. They have really, really pointy noses, and no access to NHS plastic surgeons. Shrews have a bum deal all things considered. What do you want to shout at them for? Why don’t you pick on someone your own size? Unless of course you are a highly intelligent shrew octogenarian who wishes to shout abuse at the feckless shrew youths of today, hanging out by dandelions, spitting and kicking daisies whilst being rude to their mothers’. In which case, more power to your shrew elbow and invest in a tiny shrew megaphone. You can order them online from www.shoutyshrews.com or make one out of a hollowed out conker shell.
What do you feed a wounded pigeon?
Oxtail soup on a small, silver salt spoon. All wounded creatures, large or small, need soup. Just ask our resident experts Trude ‘I love shrews’ Mostue and Bill ‘I fart on your scoma vole’ Oddie. Bill in fact, has his own range of soups for the wounded animal in your life. They come in twenty handy flavours and three ranges, for the carnivore, the herbivore and the omnivore. He makes the ones for the carnivore and omnivore out of the remains of the wounded animals which no soup on earth could save. He feels that this is a boon to environmentalism and is what the animals would have wanted. The most popular soup in the range is ‘Shrew and watermelon’ a cold, summer soup, similar to Gazpacho, served with toasted shrews heads as croutons. Badgers in particular go mad for this variety. Pigeons have shown a preference for ‘Sunflower with a hint of ready salted crisp and essence of pavement’.
Constipated and out of breath.
That’s probably all the trapped pooh in you pushing its way to the surface. It has nowhere else to go and is eventually going to burst out of your oesophagus like a tape worm chasing a bit of bacon sandwich on a string. What you need is a sink plunger and a trusty friend. I suggest hazmat clothing as a precaution and a confidentiality agreement. This comes under the classification: ‘Things that shall never be mentioned between us again.’
Side effects of eating asparagus.
- You start singing; ‘Bette Davis Eyes’ by Kim Carnes but with the line: ‘She’s got some asparagus thighs’ over and over and over again until you are driven insane and have to be carted off to a mental hospital, howling and clawing at the moon.
- You develop a fondness for pachyderms and insist on swapping your family car for a camel. You ride it to work every morning and change your mobile ring tone to; ‘Alice the Camel has two humps’.
- Your feet swell to three times their regular size and smell of watermelon and digestive biscuits.
- You rush out and buy a sheepdog called Stan who you train to herd together all the staff at your local post office and keep them in the sorting office while you rifle through the mail looking for birthday cards with fivers in, so that you can flee the country and go and live in Sri Lanka. You will go native and join the Tamil Tigers in their fight for freedom. Stan will pine away without you and the RSPCA will put a warrant out for your arrest should you ever decide to re-enter the country.
Hazardous occupation, eating asparagus.
Furniture eating cats
I shouldn’t worry too much about this. The only breed of cat left in the world which enjoys eating furniture habitually is the purebred Persian. It’s why they always look slightly constipated and a bit evil. Burmese have been known to have a nibble on a pouffe every now and again, but this can easily be avoided by using footstools. Persians are very fussy. They loathe Ikea furniture because they despise the taste of the fjords. Their preference is for early Chippendale or Louis Quinze. They will tolerate Jacobean, although not if it has been touched by Mr. Sheen. They detest knotty pine and will only eat sideboards if all the occasional tables are gone.