Clickbait alert: This picture is misleading…

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We spent lunch bickering over what to call Robomo. I suggested Lionel, while management liked Rob, but Dan clinched it by coming out with Momo.

In the afternoon, Jessica and I were working in a garden on a small side street. She was crossing the road to get to the van, when a Mercedes whizzed around the corner. She jumped out the way just in time. The driver stopped, wound down the window, and said cheerily,

‘Oh, don’t worry, I wouldn’t run you over, you do such a good job. The garden looks lovely!’

I feel sorry for all the people crossing the road who don’t do such a good job.

The Trouble with Meeting Any Old Tom, Dick or Harry

This story is from one of my favourite bloggers, Colin McQueen and his site, Getting On. It made me chuckle!

via The Trouble with Meeting Any Old Tom, Dick or Harry

Note: this is just the first bit, cos the reblog didn’t provide an excerpt…

The Trouble with Meeting Any Old Tom, Dick or Harry

SpeedDating
There is, apparently, an epidemic of loneliness amongst the middle-aged and elderly. Opportunities to meet other single people in an ‘organic’ manner are vastly reduced as we get older and for some people, many of whom may have been in a stable relationship for many years, the whole business of meeting new people can be a bridge too far. It is with some surprise, therefore, that I learn that Speed Dating, the most synthetic and pressurised mode of social intercourse that humankind has yet devised, has, for an increasing proportion of ageing singletons, become the preferred manner of meeting people and, perhaps, finding a partner. I tried to imagine how this might work…

DING!
Mary: …Are you alright?
Tom: Yes, it’s these chairs. What’s the point of the arm rests? It’s a bugger of a job to get into them without popping the front of your shirt out of your trousers – not ideal when you’re trying to make an impression; especially when you’ve not really had time to change your vest since last Sunday’s gravy incident – also, could put your hip out; twist too far trying to get your knees under these tables…
Mary: Right… well… I see. Yes. Well, I’m told that the best thing to do, because we’re obviously time-limited, is to get the personal details out of the way first, so, I’m Mary, I’m a retired teacher. I like walking on the beach in the early morning. I love music and books – clichéd I know, but true – and I’m allergic to cats. You?
Tom: I’m… ooh, excuse me. I had beans for lunch. Always do that to me, beans, still, better out than in eh?
Mary: Well… I suppose…
Tom: Tom. I spend my time in the pub mainly. Don’t have many friends, that’s why I’m here: thought that I might be able to get a bit of… well, you know, woman of the world and all that. Teacher. Don’t just learn about such things, if you catch my drift, eh…
Mary: Er… well, I don’t really… Oh, there’s the bell.
Tom: Bell?
Mary: Yes, the bell. Time to move on I think.
Tom: I didn’t hear a bell.
Mary: Really. I definitely heard the bell.
Tom: Nobody’s moving.
Mary: I am…

DING!

To read on>>>>

via The Trouble with Meeting Any Old Tom, Dick or Harry

Aspiration and reality

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AI has a simple piece of advice for life here. Something almost all can aim for. But not me, for I am a woubit. See below.

Word of the day: woubit – a small and shabby person, not suited for the royal family, too scruffy and liable to laugh loudly at the wrong time.

Oh! And I’ve got a new laptop, finally. I’m only half using it so far and I’ve already had to write and ask the seller why it’s not the same as the description, buuuuut otherwise it looks good. It doesn’t keep coming to a wheezy stop where it does nothing but stare like this one (currently held together by three bulldog clips, an elastic band and some electrical tape) does. Anyway, I’ll leave you with some even wiser words from The Curious Dog…

“Sticks and stones can break my bones and I have my Swiss Army Knife if they hit me and if I kill them it will be self defense and I won’t go to prison.”

― Mark Haddon, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time

Brennan is alive and, well…

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Just throwing this piece of Artificial Inspiration out there, because it may very well be right.

So I saw Brennan! He’s alive! He wasn’t even walking with his head down!

(For anyone passing by who doesn’t know, Brennan is a man who walks slowly up and down my street with his head hanging so low it’s as if his neck is elastic.)

He was still walking slowly, but head up. I was probably staring trying to work out if it was him or not (I’ve never properly seen his face) and then I realised it was. And he was now looking at me, so I smiled shyly.

And he leered in response. And I don’t mean a nervous smile gone wrong, or a slight sneer, I mean a full-throttle, Bela-Lugosi-vampire, lip-twisting leer. I don’t think I’ve even see that face live on a human before. It reminded me of this Uno Morales cartoon (if you don’t know the rest of the cartoon, you don’t want to). Except that Brennan’s eyes were more hollowed out, looked almost bruised.

If I assume that Brennan hasn’t been possessed by demons, then he is a deeply troubled man, at least when he’s looking at me. Think I need to steer clear of him and accept that I’m terrible at making friends. I may be cursed.

Word of the day: weirdward – bordering upon the supernatural

Wise words for a sorry world

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Well here’s some inspiration I actually agree with!

Then today the scaffolding was down and the painters had gone. I was wondering yesterday how they would paint underneath where the scaffolding was against the wall/step. The answer is: they wouldn’t, they’d leave it unpainted. UWnpainted squares all over the walls and ground.

 

 

At least there’s no way the landlady can pin this on us.

A wise aspiration for us ALL

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Quite a few politicians at the moment seem to be making the leap from self-interested-and-incompetent to fucking-despotic. So AI has come up with a great ambition to aim for.

Word of the day: Barbarocracy – government by barbarians

I’ve been a bit confused about how our painters have been painting the house. They’ve got scaffolding up which is attached to the wall, covering small sections of it. It also rests on the steps that they’re painting a nice cheery red. But how can they paint under/behind the scaffolding? Will they do those bits after?

No sign of Brennan, the sad walking man. It’s been days now.

The unexpected dangers of painting

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Artificial Inspiration gave me nice poster today! I feel all validated.

A couple of friendly painters put up scaffolding outside my house yesterday. It’s odd, because my house isn’t big, I’m sure a ladder would have been fine, but maybe it’s safer this way. I offered tea, but they didn’t want it.

Then today they were burning off the old paint from the side of the house with a blow torch. I’ve not heard of this method before, is it normal? Anyway, I’d been in about an hour when the doorbell rang. One of the friendly painters was at the door with a sheepish grin hiding behind his curly beard.

‘Hello, I’m sorry to bother you, but I just need to have a look at your window from the inside. You see, I think it’s on fire.’ He didn’t seem in a huge rush, so we trundled up to my flat chatting about the patchy weather.

He was right, it was on fire. Wisps of smoke were wafting across the lounge. Apparently a bit of fluff inside the window had caught alight. I got him a glass of water to put it out. He poured the water over the sill, thanked me politely and went back outside to pick up his blow torch. He still didn’t want a cup of tea.

Word of the day (one of the finest ever): ucalegon – neighbour whose house is on fire.

I’ve never been able to use this word in real life, but today I’m proud to have given my neighbour the opportunity.