Big Branna

It seems to be the done thing on Big Brother to run names together (Samanda, Bramanda, Chiggy) so I guess we'll have to start calling Ms LRB "Big Branna".

I suddenly realised how many Friday evenings I've spent now, slobbing out with a beer and some chocolate, me in my rocking chair and Ally opposite me on the sofa, the telly between us, him with half an eye on his laptop so that he can read Anna's Live Blogging Things whilst simultaneously watching Big Brother, reading the best bits out loud to me, and us both laughing a lot. And every now and then I say wonderingly, "I know her! I've met her!" and then I tell Ally stupid messages he should type to Anna and her readers, like, "Oh yes, tell them that funny thing about the ocelets you just read out to me that you found on the internet," or "I'm mesmerised by this ad, there's a gorilla playing drums to Phil Collins... I really like that song you know, I'm sorry but I do... what the fuck? What's it got to do with chocolate? Ask them what it's got to do with chocolate!" and other such nonsenseries. I'm suspect he never types them in, he just writes random nonsense in TypePad to appease me.

Ahem. Friday nights. Er... bath.


___

My cousins

Last week it was my cousin B jumping off cliffs. This week it's my cousin H (B's sister) swallowing worms.


___

Tickling Sister Man Feet Kidnapped

Apparently somebody landed at Boob Pencil today after typing "Tickling Sister Man Feet Kidnapped" into a search engine.

Maybe I really don't want to know the answer, but I confess I'm intrigued. Somebody who has a fetish for incestuous foot-based coercive sex? Somebody who was driving in their car and dreaming about appearing on Richard and Judy with Radio 4 droning on in the background and suddenly they realised the newsreader was describing an intriguing news item but by the time they started concentrating on it, all they got was something to do with sisters, tickling, feet and kidnappings, so they had to go look it up? Maybe a man was kidnapped by his sister, who then tickled his feet and refused to stop until their parents paid the ransom?

I'll probably never know.


___

Videos

1. Hilarious Jesus thing.

2. My cousin B jumping off a cliff.

3. Um, something else. I can't remember what, but I liked it.

(update: I remembered! Thanks to a comment mentioning user manuals. This is actually a very funny thing about user manuals and How To Read A Book and stuff like that. Oh, just watch it. It's funny)


___

You've Been Tangoed

I was wearing my Festival Hat and Coat Combo (scroll down to the bottom of this page and look at the photo) when I chatted with the young authors, so God knows what they made of me.

And earlier on that evening, one of the many Happy Drunken Young Men in attendance approached me and asked me to show his mate my hat and coat, cos he's "really into ginger stuff," and seeing as his mate was horizontal at the time, I thought it only right and proper that I stand foot to foot and then topple over on top of him and give him a Giant Fluffy Orange Hug before strolling away.

He seemed surprised.

What?


___

Mrs Grumpy

One of the symptoms of my current Rubbish Head Syndrome is that I'm very irritable. Hence the Harry Potter rant, which is quite unlike me.

But really, the following things are just VERY IRRITATING INDEED, right?

1. Cans of tuna in oil. I've tried buying the versions canned in brine instead, but they taste crap. So I'm back to the oil. There's no way of opening one of these cans without the oil leaking out all over the fucking shop. It's impossible to extract the tuna without creating a trail of yet more slimy gloop, and the bloody stuff simply refuses to budge from the can itself if you want to give it a rinse before putting it in the recycling. Thus I often say Fuck Global Warming and throw the whole lot in the bin, for which I am very sorry, but argggghh, the stuff gets everywhere and is horrible and slimy and really hard to budge! Guaranteed to have me swearing left right and centre.

2. DVDs. For fuck's sake, isn't modern technology supposed to make life easier? Don't they know that some of us have children who trail into the kitchen going "Muuuum, I'm bored" just when you're throwing tuna oil all over the room whilst simultaneously cutting yourself on Evil Tuna Cans? Don't they understand that cheap DVD players have horrifically complicated and cheap remote controls that are impossible for small children to operate? Can't they guess that the last thing you want to do while several pans are boiling over in the kitchen is stand next to the stupid arsing DVD player pressing buttons and then waaaaaiting for the credits to roll, and then again for the Copyright Theft Message to play, and then again for the adverts, and yet again for the really-really-slow menu to finally appear, and that's only if you don't have to first find United Kingdom at the bottom of a list of fifty regions? Can't they get it into their thick skulls that sometimes the DVD has to go in a corner of the room inaccesible from the armchair, rendering the remote obsolete and meaning that at the end of a hard day when all you want to do is WATCH A FUCKING FILM you end up having to stand next to the DVD player clucking impatiently, clicking buttons and waiting for all the menus and messages and adverts to scroll slowly by before you can just press fucking play? Why? WHY??

3. Thick tight plastic packaging, welded shut at the edges and encasing its minor artefact - which could be anything from scissors to toothbrush to fucking ball of string - so thoroughly that only a pair of industrial cable cutters will set it free.

WHY?!

Bastards.


___

Silly Place-Name Poem

As part of my latest Big Blogger task, I rote a poem today. Well, I didn't really write it, I just splurged a load of words out, with a road atlas by my side.

Anyway, I kinda like it:

Meltham Meltdown

In Hankerton they hankered long
While Little Knox smoked Llanon bong
And Lerwick folk had cod in Little Leigh.
But Llanmadoc were playing fire
Which stoked poor Fulmerton’s red ire
So Lower Gabwell said, “Come round for tea!”
Which would have played it out just right
If Linlithgow’d not taken fright
And poked Longframlington to start a fight.
“We’ll have you all!” they shouted loud
With Garway spears and Goldcliff-proud
Of hale Hale kippers (twenty to the pound).
And next we knew, with Fulford glee
We’d none of us gone round to tea
Instead were stuck in Greater Leigh or Smee.
So, giving up on making sense,
Or having brains or keeping tense
We’ll all troop down to Garvestone in whens.
And that’s all fine I think you’ll find
As long as you’ve not lost your mind
Or left it down the pub in Harborough Magna.
Or on a bench at Gardeners Green
Or in the pond by Aberdeen
Or down at Elslack bowling green, with Fred.
Cos Fred’s well known for stealing brains
Especially when it rains and rains
And floods the river down at old Elsted.
And thus you’ll see, with Hatley glee
These hundred words enough for me
And Findrack House, and Finedon, and Cwm.

Hopeless

OK, look, I'm hopeless. This is me holding my hands up high, shrugging a giant shrug and admitting it: I am a lost cause.

I'm supposed to be working from home today. I had made a giant plan of all the things I was going to do this week, and all the things I was going to do today, and this week was going to be different from last week, which was spent intermittently staring into space and then typing away furiously and being ever-so productive in areas that, viewed objectively and all that and related back to My Life Plan and what have you, are not really very productive at all...

...but my body aches from all that weeding yesterday, and my head is fuzzy, and I think I have CJD again (I mean that I think it again, not that I have it again, because as far as I know I've never had it, apart from the fact that I'm constantly thinking I have it, even though I don't like beef much and rarely eat it, except in things that have Sneaky Beef in, like sausages and burgers, but I don't like burgers much either, but I do quite like sausages, but I mostly eat pork ones, but let's not forget mince), and I've forgotten what I was saying. Several things at once, I think.

Oh yes. ClareSudberyitis. I got an email from a friend who claimed to have contracted this condition, of which the main symptom is rampant procrastination.

Because, you see, I'm ever so good at making lists and plans and neat little timetables that tell me exactly what to do when, and I will spend a lot of time constructing them and then an awful lot more time ignoring them.

I have a friend who has a child who is similarly afflicted. Well, I don't know about the execution part, she might be good at that bit, but she likes to make charts and plans, just as I did when I was her age. She also likes - as do I - to Be Prepared. And this means having A Suitable Bag with many pockets, all stuffed to the brim with Things You Might Need. You should have seen her eyes when I emptied out my handbag the other week, for her entertainment. On stalks, they were. I went through each and every pocket and showed her all my Useful Things, and to the background of Stunned Sniggers from everyone else, she took it all faithfully in, and apparently she too now has a Big Handbag with Lots Of Stuff In, and is looking forward to showing me when she next sees me. And I am looking forward to it too. I will clap enthusiastically and consign her to a lifetime of Lopsided Shoulders and Bad Back.

Anyway, that was another aside. The real point of this post...

But oh dear, it's getting a bit long now. Maybe I'll start another one. Hang on.


___

So, instead of

Pants

OK all you British people, will you just stop it already with the calling-trousers-pants thing? Trousers are trousers. Knickers are pants. Stop it.

And no, I have not gone all Lynne Truss - I couldn't give a monkey's arse about cross-pollenation of languages. I like Americanisms. and I love the way language evolves constantly and lives in the hands of its users no matter how pompous people try and Tell People What To Say.

And it's not about the word itself, either. I like the word. In fact, I like it better than trousers.

But. Well, for a start it's ambiguous. How am I supposed to know what people mean nowadays when they say pants? I don't. And that is pants. And then there's the comedy avlue. There's a lot of potential comedy in American people saying trousers and us thinking they mean knickers. But best of all, there's the insult / ejaculation / swearword potential. "That's pants, that is!" and "oh pants!" have a lot more impact if they mean things like, "oh, knickers!" After all, why would you say "oh, trousers!" It's just not the same, is it?

So. Stop it. Pants are knickers. Not slacks. And let that be an end to it.


___

Overheard

In the checkout at Netto:

"I went to Blackpool for that big run. The Great Ron Hill was there; he's about 70 now."

"Oh yes, The Great Ron Hill. I've got a pair of his running pants."


Eeuuww.


___

VOTE FOR ME

Oh arsicles, I'm trailing way behind with only 51 votes, whereas Bob has something like 150.

Maybe if I ask you nicely... please vote for me? Maybe if I give you some sex tips?

This message will radically improve your love life.

It is not only radically full of amazing radical insights, it contains radical powers to ruin your day and put you in a seriously bad mood if you don't email it to the entire contents of your address book within ten minutes of reading it.

You don't need to know how these magical powers will be exercised. After all, it's the internet, and computers, and everything they do is a bit weird and incomprehensible really, isn't it? Even those geeky people who claim to know how they work are just saying it to make themselves look cleverer. Ask them how a quantum computer works. Get them to actually explain it to you, in a way that makes sense. See?

So anyway, this message has magical properties and can tell whether or not you email it to anyone, and if you don't a secret message will be returned to me, and I will send some Bad Luck Packets down the phone wires and make you have a bad day. Really. I can.

So, anyway. Your sex life.

Oh, hang on, I forgot. While I'm telling you these Amazing Secret Tricks which will revolutionise your luck with the fairer sex, the meaner sex, the badger sex or whichever it is that tickles your fancybones, I will be employing a finely-tuned mantra whose purpose is to make your genitals grow larger or sweeter-smelling depending on their current state, and will alter your brainwaves in such a way that you exude potent pheromones which will make everyone within five metres of your desk want to do anything in their power to make you happy. Don't worry about the mantra. Ignore the mantra. The mantra will do you good.

vote for clare, vote for clare, she's all there, vote for clare

Oh and if anyone within five metres of your desk is also reading this email you will be mutually devastated by each other's wonderfulness before teaming up together and taking over the world, so that's all right.

vote for clare, vote for clare, she's all there, vote for clare

Right. I'm going to give you ten tips, ten amazing revolutionary Hot Sex Tips, that will change your life forever. Why? Because I'm nice like that. And, well, you know - karma.

vote for clare, vote for clare, she's all there, vote for clare

Oh, and if you read one of these tips and think something like, "Huh? But that doesn't apply to me," then you are clearly not concentrating enough. Think hard. Is there something about you or someone close to you that I could be referring to? Did you once eat a raspberry that shape? Clearly that is what I mean, and YOU are who I'm talking to.

vote for clare, vote for clare, she's all there, vote for clare

So. Sex tips.

(1)
You know when you do that thing with your tongue? You're getting that slightly wrong. You need to leave gaps between the wiggles, and do it a bit more to the left.

vote for clare, vote for clare, she's all there, vote for clare

(2)
It's not too small. Really. It's fine. Just, you know, it needs to be wiggled a bit more to the left.

vote for clare, vote for clare, she's all there, vote for clare

(3)
Remember that time, when you did that thing?
That was great. Do that again.

vote for clare, vote for clare, she's all there, vote for clare

(4)
It's much better when you grind your hips. No, a bit more to the left... That's it. Well done.

vote for clare, vote for clare, she's all there, vote for clare

(5)
Eye contact! Long, lingering eye contact.

vote for clare, vote for clare, she's all there, vote for clare

(6)
Words. Lots of them. For lubrication or protection. For titillation, flatteration or deterrent, just don't forget to use them. They're free.

vote for clare, vote for clare, she's all there, vote for clare

(7)
Your feet. You know what I mean.

vote for clare, vote for clare, she's all there, vote for clare

(8)
It's exactly where you thought it was. Now quit procrastinating.

vote for clare, vote for clare, she's all there, vote for clare

(9)
Five inches. And a half. On the left.

vote for clare, vote for clare, she's all there, vote for clare

(10)
Only if you remember to do it gently.

vote for clare, vote for clare, she's all there, vote for clare

Now quickly, you have ten minutes to email this message to everyone in your address book and if you don't you will SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUST. Seriously. Can't you feel your keyboard getting hot? That heat has already transferred to your fingers and the only way you can stop it from building up and exploding you dead is if you send it out to someone else by emailing this message. Really. It's your sole chance of escape.

vote for clare, vote for clare, she's all there, vote for clare

Oh and by the way, vote for Clare.
http://timtim.typepad.com/bigblogger2007/

Stuff

1. Felix and I have been listening to Walt Disney's Greatest Hits while we eat our tea each night, and he's forever leaping off his chair and pogoing around the room to The Wonderful Thing About Tiggers. I try and tell him off, but he knows that as long as he's dancing I'll let him leave the table every time.

2. The reason I think I look better without my glasses on is the soft focus thing. As soon as I put them back again, I can see every blemish. I look beautiful without my glasses.

3. There was a third thing, but I've forgotten what it was. Carry on!


___

Tee hee

I wrote a song.

Well, no. I didn't write a song. I took an already-written song, which most people probably hate but I - to my shame - no, actually, why should I be ashamed? I like it and that's all there is to it - but anyway, this sentence is getting a bit complicated now - I didn't really write the song. I just converted it. Into a song about Squash. Never mind why, but I'm sort of proud of it - in a terribly-ashamed kind of way.

It's here.


___

Beep Beep

[beep beep]

A message! For me!

Did we mention we're going to give you a reward?

Yes, actually. You did. Still not sure what it is though, or what I've done to deserve it.

Oh, I have to ring this number? OK then.

Right, I have to choose between a number of pointless and bewildering rewards. So I select one at random: Free texts.

...

[beep beep]

A message! For me!

Did we mention we're giving you a reward?

Yes. You did.

Well we are. Very soon.

Thank you.

...

[beep beep]

A message! For me!

Would you like a reward? We thought you might give you one.

Yes. I know.

...

[beep beep]

A message! For me!

We've given you it! Your reward. Enjoy.

Very nice. Thank you. 15 free texts. Lovely.

...

OK, used them.

[beep beep]

A message! For me!

We gave you your reward, we hope you liked it.

Oh, for heaven's sake. I know.

...

[beep beep]

A message! For me!

Did you like your reward? It was ever so nice of us to give it to you, wasn't it?

Argh...

And so it goes. Every few days, beep beepity beep, never anything interesting, always O Fucking 2, we're giving you something (text 1), we'll give it very soon (text 2), we're nearly there (text 3), here it is! (text 4), we gave you a reward! (text 5), we'll give you another one soon (text 6)...

Shut up shut up shut up.

That's all I have to say. Stop bloody texting me. I'll gladly forgo the pathetic blimmin' rewards if you just stop texting me.

Thank you. Now shut up.


___

I micanopy my graysville

By the way, if anyone has ever sent me an email with a title like, "I micanopy my graysville" or "With is receptive," I will have deleted it without opening it.

I do get random emails from people I don't know quite often though, and it does worry me that you might have titled it in some imaginative or surreal fashion, and therefore inadvertently disguised yourself as spam.

I get a lot of spam.

I never liked eating it, but since the recent ad campaign (which I rather like), I confess I've been tempted. But what does processed luncheon meat have to do with unwanted advances and attempts to sell dodgy products?

Spam up!

Hmmm.


___

Trapiss Artist

Haha, I just got a message on my MySpace (link over there on the left) from a trapeze artist in America, asking me whether I knew anyone who could run a trapeze school in Oklahoma.

Haha, and oops.


___

Cuntacular

Inspired by Pandemian's latest post (and you'd better follow the link, or what lies below is going to appear quite spectacularly odd), I've been having a little fun this afternoon stepping into her shoes...


The Daily fucking Mail (who I hate with a foul-mouthed passion) claimed Stephen Fry had candy floss for dinner again. They said it explained his sperm backlog. "Shut up shut up shut up," was what I said, as I ran with righteous vengeance into their office in London. And with wild gesticulating I shouted, “All your opinions are rubbish, you lazy cunting buffoons! Why don't you write about wimmins things, you cretins?”

But oh, their carpets were filthy. And there were whining grease smeared children wherever I looked. I shan't claim that it isn't a dubious work ethic which sees people vacuuming daily, but their ludicrous slatternly pit could only cause profuse vomiting.

"What's a hoover?" Those fools asked. "Pah! piffle! You idiots!" I said. But then I saw the headline: “Morrissey Keeps Spare Bollocks in Knickers,” it said. I was stationary for a moment, then seized with inappropriate sniggering.

Why? why? why? My childishness was never more cuntacular.

(degenerate metaphor)

Yet was my clumsiness to stop there? Eh?

...my aunt Fanny; of course not.

(filthy similie)

Because some cunt gave me alcohol, which I like with unrestrained glee... Bugger. And, indeed, Arse. Next thing I knew, I was writing them a haiku. I know, I know, such cunty cuntery.

But what the futtock is it to you, anyway?


___

Haha

I keep getting silent phone calls from 01111, which is a weird phone number.

So I googled it, and discovered here that it's probably some telemarketer using ID spoofing, which is where you can make it appear you are calling from a fictional number.

But in the process I also found this YouTube vid of an angry punter's response to cold-calling, and it made me giggle.

That is all.

I really hate cold callers, though. Grr. And yes, I am registered with TPS.


___

[she laughs so hysterically she falls off her chair]

More Than a Feeling! By Boston!

The man is a genius.


___

Cried Off

I'm downstairs, and the scanner is in my study up two flights of stairs, and I'm pissed, so you won't be getting to see it any time soon...

OK, we have an interruption to the service at this point: I was about to post a melancholy post about misery and self pity and self loathing and tears and sobbing and cold rationalism and how awful it is to stay dry-eyed when people are crying at my words...

But then the two bongs kicked in and it suddenly came into my head that I should switch Film4 off and play some music instead, and I was going to play Rocky Mountain Way by Joe Walsh but I got distracted and played Rockin' All Over The World by Status Quo instead, and had to turn the volume up really loud, and then Ally walked in the door fro the pub and he thought he was going to find Depressed Crying Clare (so did I, to be honest) and instead he got Laughing Hysterically Clare to a Status Quo soundtrack, and we are now smoking more and having a Who Can Find The Most Ridiculous Songs play-off, and maybe life's not so bad after all.


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More Silliness

While I'm about it, I should tell you about what my mum said when we were watching Paulie yesterday (great film about a parrot - I recommend):

Mum: "Oh, who's that actor? I recognise her."

Me: "I don't think I've ever seen her before."

Mum: "I know, it's the Fairy Godmother in Shrek II."

Me: "But Mum, Shrek II is an animation. Their faces are drawn by artists. That's why you didn't recognise John Cleese or Jennifer Saunders*..."



[* JC and JS are voiceover artists in Shrek II]


___

Congo March, Thursday 12 April 2007

When I received the email whose title was the same as this post, I got rather excited.

"Ooh!" I thought. "What a great idea!"

I had a little picture in my head of thousands of demonstrators dancing their way in a long line up Oxford Rd, singing, "Ooh-ooh oooh, come on and do the Conga..."

But I wasn't paying attention. Sorry. But there is a demo against deportations to the Congo (DRC) on Thursday 12th April 12.00 noon At All Saints Building on Oxford Rd (Manchester), and you must all come along, and then I'll stop feeling bad about my rather bad taste joke.

But I really did think that. Honest.


___

during pregnancy may cause the fetus to become dependent on biblical

That was the title of a spam email I just received. I love it.

I'm not sure why anyone would think it would make me want to buy anything though (stocks and shares, penis extensions, drugs, who knows - I didn't bother to open it). I really don't want my fetus (sic) to become dependent on biblical.


___

Tommy Cooper Isn't Dead...

...he's living on the moon.

Look, see? I've drawn him on, to help you spot him. But after you've marvelled at his doodled magnificence, look back at the moon sans scribble. He's really there. Looking even more like himself than my crude outline.



I wonder what he's up to? If he says "Just like that" and shakes his hands at us, will we all disappear?


___

Please Retain

I would like to share with you the rather delightful message printed on the back of a cardboard tag attached to a small blue cushion I got for my birthday. It's soft and plushy and has a picture of a groovy-looking female who is wiggling her fingers and toes with glee and grinning manically, as you would be if somebody threw the words "Top Chick" into the air around you. It's a very small cushion, and I'm not entirely sure what it's for - I think maybe it's a comforter. It's very cuddly.

But anyway, it's the tag I like the best. On one side it says "Groovy" and on the other side it says "Please remove all tags and detachable parts before giving this toy to a child. Please retain this information."

So, in other words, please keep this sign whose sole purpose is to tell you to remove this sign, but having removed it please keep it so that you know you must remove it, just in case having removed it you forgot that you were supposed to remove it and re-attached it at some point, which of course you might well do if you found it in a drawer with a notice telling you that you must keep it because it's so important, and you might think that, what with it being so important and all, the best thing would be to attach it to the thing it came with, to make sure you don't lose it. But - oh no! - the sign tells you to remove it, not to attach it. Phew. Good thing too, or you might have attached it. But anyway, don't lose it, whatever you do, because then you might forget that it must remain detached at all times and never be re-attached.

Have I laboured that enough now?

It is funny though. I like it. I'm keeping it. You know, just in case...

Wonka Willy

Last night I dreamt I was wandering around with a penis in my hand. It was completely naked - it wasn’t even wearing its person. It was a disembodied dick. I was trying to hide it from people, which was awkward because it kept becoming erect and poking out from the end of my fist.

I asked Ally what it meant. He said that was obvious. He said that although I thought I was dreaming about somebody’s unattached schlong, I was actually dreaming about driving a train through a tunnel.

Which makes perfect sense.