As people have been asking, here’s the cake that K’s very kindly made me for my birthday. I haven’t actually tasted it yet – as I write this it’s sitting in the fridge – but as all of K’s cooking is wonderful and delicious, I’m sure it will be fantastic.
My favourite pudding is tiramisu, so K came up with a tiramisu-flavoured cake, with a chocolate sponge sandwiched together with the marscapone-cream-egg mixture that she makes her tiramisu from, all liberally laced with Tia Maria. I am entirely responsible, though, for the suggestion of adding Cadburys Animal biscuits, thus turning it into a tiramizoo.
“My dog’s got no nose.”
“Haven’t we been through this?”
“Shush. My dog’s got no nose.”
“How does he smell?”
Well, funny you should ask that. We’ve just joined this scheme called Smelling-Nose Dogs. You know how, in America, guide dogs are called seeing-eye dogs? My dog with no nose now has his own guide dog, who goes around, sniffs things, guides him away from odorous obstacles and generally lets him in on all the latest dog-gossip.* And it’s given him a whole new lease of life! He’s happy, and bouncy, and has a shiny coat!** He’s always bounding around and eager for his smelling-nose dog and him to go for a walk together. Completely unlike how he used to be, always moping in his basket unable to smell anything.”
“Yes, it’s really done him the world of good.”
“Still not very funny, though.”
* You know – which dogs have urinated on which lamp-posts and that sort of thing. Which is, I’m told, very important information for dogs.
** Not that that has much to do with anything. Maybe I should be a copywriter for Evil Nestlé’s dog-food arm.
“My dog’s got no nose”
“How does he smell?”
“He doesn’t. He sits around all day getting into a deeper and deeper cycle of depression, because he can’t smell anything, in one huge cloud of nose-related ennui. He never even comes out of his basket.”
“That’s quite sad, really.”
“Yeah, I don’t know why the title says it’s a joke.”
According to Martijn, 47% of all blog posts consist of links to other blogs.*
Well, according to new research by the FP Militant Invective Laboratories, an entire 0.3% of current blog posts consist of links to blog posts about the proportion of blog posts which just consist of links to other blogs.
No, really. Honest. No, I didn’t just pull that number out of thin air. What sort of person do you think I am?**
* well, actually, he made it up. But it could be true.
** Oh, OK, I did really. But you never know.
It is of course pissing down. We are loitering within tent.
Special offer! Medieval torture kit, only £9.99*
* while stocks last
There once was a teacher, who went by the name of Miss Swing. She was a very good teacher, popular with her children, who were all well-behaved and scored very well on all the tests they took. All the parents at parents’ evening either wanted to be her or be with her, and all her colleagues knew she was wonderful in the classroom, the best teacher the school had.
There was one small problem with Miss Swing, though. She would never agree with anyone else.
If you said something was black, she would say it was white. If you told her the weather was cold, she’d reply she thought it unseasonably warm. Anything you said to her, she would contradict if she could. The only exception was when she was on holiday, when she would be as pleasant and polite a person as you could ever meet. Apart from that, she would always disagree with everything you said.
Finally, one day, someone confronted her. “Why is it,” they said, “that when you’re on holiday you’re as charming as anyone, but when you’re in school, or even after work, you can never agree with anyone?”
“Ahh,” said Miss Swing, “I’m just a contradiction in terms.”
This is the final part. If you need to catch up, here is part one, and part two.
The next day, crowds went to the carpenter’s workshop, as usual, to
try to ask him to build and carve for them. But he was not there.
They looked through the windows, but his workshop was empty. They
looked through the windows of the house, but there was no sign of him.
They searched the entire village, but there was no sign of the
carpenter. After a while the village constable agreed to break
into the carpenter’s house, to find him. But he was nowhere to be found.
The whole county started searching for the missing carpenter, but he
could not be found anywhere. He had disappeared, completely. They
searched for months, but the carpenter never returned.
Some people thought that he had got so angry with being asked to paint
everything he made, that he had decided to retire and move away. They
could not explain, though, how he had disappeared so suddenly. Others
thought that a disappointed client, who could not find a painter, had
done something; or that a great lord elsewhere had kidnapped him to
create beautiful furniture for the lord alone. Noone ever saw any
furniture in the carpenter’s style, though, but somehow this made
these people even more adamant they were right. Some thought he had
been murdered for the great riches they assumed he had made from his
work; but they were wrong, for he worked for the love of carpentry and
had spent all his money on expensive woods from overseas.
The carpenter never returned to the village, and noone ever saw
furniture like his again. Those things he had made were preserved
carefully by their owners, because they knew they were irreplacable.
To this day, what happened to the carpenter who refused to paint
remains a mystery. As far as anyone could tell, he just varnished.
I’ve noticed I’ve been a bit lax updating recently – if you look on the sidebar, you’ll notice these past few months have had far fewer posts than before. Back in January I said to myself that I was going to try to update every day. As you can see, I haven’t been managing it.
“Why do you have to update if you don’t have anything to say?” someone asked recently. I feel I should, though. Previous attempts at creating diaries have always faded away due to laziness; when I started this site, the intention was to try to stick to one post per day. No more, no less, and the rhythm would stop it fading away. I don’t think there’s any risk of that happening quite yet, but I am going to try to put more effort in.
Big Dave is still up to something – he’s been up to something all week, I’m sure, but he’s not saying what it is yet. Lots of phone calls that he won’t take in front of people.
We were both up to something the other day, to be honest – we found a rather good screensaver* that simulates, very closely, a computer that has crashed so horribly that it won’t start up. Dave, of course, couldn’t resist installing it on the PC of someone who recently played a joke on him. He waited until we knew the chap was away from his desk, installed it remotely, then sat back and waited for the phone call.
The funny thing, though, is that he also installed it on his own PC, so he could see what it does. So now, every time he comes back to his desk,*** he has a millisecond of “Shit! Aargh!” before remembering that it’s his screensaver. Our fear of blue screens is that ingrained, he can’t help it.
* It’s from Sysinternals, a very good site if you have to be a Windows geek, with all sorts of useful semi-official system tools. It used to be independent, but was absorbed** by Microsoft this summer.
** or maybe “adsorbed” is a better word.
*** after answering one of those mysterious phone calls he keeps getting.