Here’s a picture of me (in close up) enjoying myself earlier this afternoon. A very, very relaxing day…
There is a train station in south London called Smitham and the odd thing is that Smitham doesn’t exist. Smitham is effectively North Coulsdon. The entire hamlet of Smitham seems to have been destroyed in the process of building the A23 and the train station. Imagine that planning meeting if you will:
Planner A: Hey there’s this small hamlet called Smitham that doesn’t have any access to transport.
Planner B: Yeah but it’s tiny they’ll just go to Coulsdon if they need to get anywhere.
Planner A: No, we must provide them with a busy transport link. That’s the only way they’ll ever progress.
Planner B: But there’s no space, nothing will fit.
Planner A: Well to develop a transport link sometimes you do have to knock down a few houses.
Planner B: But all of them? Surely that’s going a bit far.
Planner A: Do you hate progress.
Planner B: No.
Planner A: Well shut up and pass me the protractor.
So they destroyed the whole thing to build it, but then they left the station name the same. That’s what doesn’t quite make sense. It’s an odd solution. And now even that is under attack – from me.
I want to change the name of the station, purely for my own selfish reasons. Basically to make me laugh. I want the name of the station to become Andweep. Why? Well I’ll tell you why. The reason is that the station before it on the train line is called Reedham. And I want the announcer to have to say Reedham, Andweep. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I want it. And it turns out that it makes about as much sense as the current name anyway. So join me in the campaign to rename Smitham. Leave your votes in the comments.
Snakebite McMuffin leaned back on his creaking office chair and tried to think. This had been a complicated case, it was one where it paid to consider all of the angles. With a moments trepidation he wrote down 19.7 degrees. There, he had solved it. There was the proof.
It was with that word, “proof”, hanging in his mind that he turned his mind to another kind of proof. One that was lurking in his bottom drawer. One that was significantly stronger than 19.7 degrees proof. He slid the drawer open and reached inside. His he drifted his hand forward until his knuckles gently tapped on the bottle. It was, he always felt, like he was knocking to be let in. He turned his hand and grasped the bottle fully. The cold of the bottle searing into his sweaty palm. He had only just started to pull the bottle towards him when…
BBLLLEEEEEEP!
He let go of the bottle and slammed the drawer shut. He did it a little too hard and then had to open the drawer again, pick up the bottle, right it, and then carefully close the drawer. He had just done this when…
BBBLLLLLLLLEEEEEEEEEEEEEP
Snakebite hit the intercom switch with his fist and shouted, “YeahWhaddaYaWant”.
“Dame here to see you”.
“Okay. Send her in.”
A woman here? In the office? He couldn’t believe it. He looked around at the mess of pizza boxes and chinese takeout cartons and shrugged. If she wanted to hire him she had to accept that he was going to have to go on a lot of stake-outs. His secretary had at first complained about how she didn’t think he really needed to bring all of the boxes back with him. But he’d explained how it helped with keeping expenses in order.
But just as he looked up to the door in readiness for her arrival, whoever she was, he saw a pile of personal photos relating to another case on the other side of the desk. Old Snakebite may have been a slob but he wasn’t sloppy. He could not afford for her to see those photos. He leapt up from his chair and ran round the desk. The movement of air that this created blew the photos off the pile and right onto the floor. He was still scrabbling around down there when the door opened and she stepped in.
From where he was kneeling the first thing he noticed was her dark red heels and then as he looked up there were her legs which seemed to go on for miles and miles or at least for a good number of feet.
Snakebite picked himself off of the ground and as he raised himself he appraised the woman opposite him. She was wearing a deep red skirt and matching jacket, a cream dress shirt, blonde hair and lips that seemed to say, “Snakebite McMuffin I presume”.
“What?” asked Snakebite.
“You are Mr McMuffin aren’t you?”
“Yes, yes, sorry yes,” he replied as he wiped his hand on his shirt and proffered it for shaking.
The lady, initially and almost instinctively had started to offer her hand so she could shake the one that was being swung her way. But then she noticed the stain that Snakebite’s hand had left on his shirt and she withdrew it.
Snakebite decided that a different tack was in order so he straightened himself up and ambled back towards his side of the desk. As he walked he said, “I see you know my name, but I’m afraid I don’t know yours. Ms…?”
“Miss Trousers. Miss Felicity Trousers”.
“Felicity Trousers,” Snakebite repeated looking and sounding a little surprised, “as in Felicity Trousers, heiress to the Trouser Millions?”.
“Yes,” she looked at him sternly, “that Felicity Trousers. You look a little surprised, detective.”
“Well yes I,” he paused clearly weighing up the right way of phrasing something, “well yes I suppose I am. It’s just that your old bastard of a father, no offence, didn’t tend to farm out any jobs to me. He always used the big boys uptown.”
“What Pry, Vate and Dick?”
“Yeah that outfit.”
“He certainly did. But I need to use somebody else Mr McMuffin. I surely do. I need somebody my father never dealt with, somebody my father never trusted. Are you that man?”
[What would Snakebite do? Would he take the case? Tune in next week to find out (hint: yes he does take the case)]
When one turns to the other and says, “just out of interest, are we poisonous”?
“I don’t really know,” replies the other snake, “Why”?
“I’ve just bit my tongue”.
My father has a theory about colds which may or may not be backed with any science but seems to be accurate in the field.
First you have to accept that the sniffles does not a cold make. Some people say that being a bit congested is a first sign of a cold but you can get the sniffles completely independently of a cold. First you have to allow this which I think is pretty reasonable.
So while holding that sniffles and a cold are unrelated we can now say that no two people in one family get a cold at the same time. People get sympathy sniffles but not concurrent colds. Each person in a family or an office will, in a rather British way, wait for the preceding person to finish up before falling ill themselves.
This is because, according to my father, there are a finite number of colds in the world. Each person is giving their cold to each other (as conventional wisdom holds) but in this model unlike conventional wisdom the cold departs the giver when it moves on to a new victim.
If you think back to past occasions when colds have been rife you will probably find this is true for you. One person caring for the other and then you swap.
Oh I’m sure you can think of some random occasion when this hasn’t been the case. But this is still possible if randomly you caught two different colds from two different people.
This does lead you to a rather interesting conclusion though. If the only way to get rid of a cold is to pass it on maybe lying in bed is asking for trouble. You only see your family members and then when they’re sick they only see you. Maybe going back into work works for you, maybe random strangers on the bus. Where ever you decide to do it you’ll need to expose yourself to others to get rid of the damn thing. So don’t stay tucked up in bed for too long.
Now “Alex”, you might be thinking, “if their are a finite number of colds where do they all go in the summer?” The answer is obvious. They migrate. They’re all in Australia at the moment as winter approaches “down under”.
The police are closing in so each of them decide to hide in sacks.
The police enter, and to check each sack a police office kicks the sack as he passes it.
First the policeman goes up to the redhead’s sack and kicks it and she says, “Meow”.
Then the policeman goes up to the brunette’s sack and kicks that one and she says, “Woof”.
Finally the policeman goes up to the blonde’s sack and kicks that one and she says, “Potatoes”.
Oswald didn’t like when people noticed he was different. This was a shame for Oswald because it happened all of the time. Oswald only had one eye and it was smack in the middle of his face. His eye was just above his nose. And people couldn’t help but stare when ever they saw him.
He had tried to make friends but even the loser kids all shunned him. He had tried to get good at sports so the other kids would like him and pick him for their teams. But it was hard to practice for team games by yourself and Oswald’s depth perception had never been that good.
If he ever tried to be smart in class the other kids just hated him more. There didn’t seem to be anything poor Oswald could do.
Then one day Oswald was sitting in his English class. English was his favourite class. In fact English was everyone’s favourite class at his school because the English teacher was Miss Greg. Miss Greg was a very very attractive young women. At Oswald’s all boys school you just had to be female and have a pulse (pulse optional) to attract attention and yet Miss Greg was genuinely foxy. She was a tall, blonde, willowy and she had a slight eastern european accent that Oswald had never been able to place.
So it was English with Miss Greg. They were all paying minute attention to everything she was doing and saying. But despite paying that much attention they could hardly have noticed the draw string of Miss Greg’s dress getting inside the book she was reading to them. And that when she closed the book the string was inside the book. And that when she picked up the book the string was still inside the book. And that when she lifted the book above her head to make a point about something her dress became undone. Suddenly the boys could see everything. Miss Greg realised immediately what had happened, but was so surprised that she didn’t immediately cover herself. She just stood there – stunned.
Everyone was slient. Nobody was saying anything. And then Oswald said, “That’s a sight for sore eye”. And everyone laughed. Even Miss Greg (and then she quickly covered herself). That was the moment that Oswald realised it – if you could make people laugh then they would like you.
Some things are difficult to search for on the internet. The best trick to use for finding things on the internet is to think in your mind of an exclusive sentence that is only relevant for the thing your searching for. This is harder than it seems but with a bit of practice you will find that you drastically improve the results of the thing that you’re searching for.
But some things are hard to look for. There are generally two reasons for this. One is that although your question is about something specific the specific thing shares a name with something common. Say for example you have a question about the html tag “table” well typing in table alone is no good, you have to type in html because other wise you get lots of information about the kind of tables that you sit at. But what if the modifier word is also a common word?
The second type of problem case is when you are researching something that nobody has ever researched before. If it’s something obscure then you are in luck. There are very very few truly original ideas that somebody hasn’t written about before on the internet. But if it’s about a common thing then it’s hard to write a question that lets you find the one article.
I was faced with this problem the other day. I had this strange feeling based on some information that I wasn’t sure about that it was a bad idea to take cans of soft drink (like Coke, Dr Peppers etc) in and out of the fridge once they had become cold. I couldn’t for the life of me think why this would be a problem, but I had this information in my mind. I came to the conclusion after some time that this was a rumour I had debunked a few years ago without checking any facts. The person who asked me probably left the conversation reassured after having asked Alex that it wasn’t a problem, and now years later it had come back to haunt me.
Luckily Yahoo Answers now has, erm, the answer because real people will answer your question for free on the internet. It’s all very useful. And I might even ask this question on there, although now my brain has clicked back in I’m pretty sure that it can’t be a problem. I have a nagging thought that condensation could be part of a counter answer. But I can’t rationally think how this would work.
Anyway, now that Yahoo Answers exists let me let you in on a little secret hack that you could have used in the old days if you needed the answer and couldn’t find it on a search engine. It would take a moment or two but in a bind it might be worth it. All you need to do is create an urban legend about your question. So in this example you would create an e-mail like this:
Dear friend,
Unless you forward this e-mail to your 5 best friends they might die and it will be all your fault.
Do you or your friends take soft drinks out of the fridge and then put them back afterwards. Do you do this when you’re trying to make room for pot roast leftovers or BBQ? Do you know it might kill you. Bacteria from the drinks arrive when they get cold, and then grow when you let the drinks get warm, and then when you put them back in the fridge the cold temperature causes the bacteria to thrive and mutate thus killing you.
Thanks,
A concerned Buddy,
And then you sit back and wait for Barbara Mikkelson (of snopes.com) to tell you the truth. It’s simple, effective, and probably a bit immoral. Hopefully Yahoo Answers will stop people from having to resort to such tactics from here on in.
[This is the final part of the 4 part story Scorching. If you’re interested in that kind of thing then you may want to check out parts one, two and three before you read this.]
Steven put down his beer and turned himself over onto his back. He knew that he was supposed to towel off the sweat when you turn over. But he couldn’t be bothered today. Apparently it meant you got an uneven tan. But he couldn’t be bothered today. Today he didn’t have time for it, he was playing catch-up.
He’d had to spend all morning with the police telling them what had happened. He’d told them the truth. All of the truth. And they’d believed him. They had even understood why he hadn’t come straight to them. They too were men. They too had often thought, when they saw x x x that they would do anything to know her. He had had to spend the day, and the night with her. He made promise after promise to her while they ate, drank and made love. And yet there was no way he was not going to tell the police about the dead body in the master bedroom.
Steven turned slightly onto his side so that he could drink some more of his beer. The slightest breeze caught his chest and made a shiver run down his back. He was transported in his mind back to England. Cold rainy England. He didn’t want to go back there.
He wasn’t sure what to tell people. The real reason sounded like a laddish lie and so he thought about telling people that the reason he turned Gloria in was because he feared having to go back to England. That he feared being deported.
He thought it sounded better than the truth. That it sounded more reasonable than the reality. The real reason he had turned her in is that despite many attempts to improve things, almost all of the previous day and night had been spent trying. Gloria was singularly crap in bed.
Steven lay back down on the sun lounger and used the chair in exactly the way that the name suggested, he lounged in the sun.
He couldn’t shake one thought from his mind, “and people thought I was going to grow up”.