Yesterday I fell about laughing when the ex-partner-in-crime handed me a newspaper and said 'Here, read this!'.
This is what I read -

I didn't just laugh; I LOLed, ROFLed, then ROFLed and LOLed some more, then when I got back here I searched about to see if I could find the CCTV clip, and behold, here it is -
~Clicky Here For Hilarity~

I don't know why this reduces me to fits of giggles every time I think about it, but it does, and hopefully I'm not alone. Apologies if you'd already seen it, but I had to share in case anyone hadn't.

Anyways, it's also given me an idea about something to get us all into the weekend mood, being 'Tell me your favourite tale of Criminal Stupidity!'. Bonus points and extra LOLs going if you can find the CCTV footage of the said people making total arses of themselves for our delectation and delight.
Over to you, and don't forget to try and have a fabulous weekend, akay?

Tootle-pips, X

Akay boys and girls, listen up.

I need some help as I've been set a challenge in five parts, and if I'm really lucky, I'll get more than one chance at winning.
I was having a talk with a friend of mine* and once again I was bemoaning the lack of excitement in my life recently. My friend asked me what I'd really like to do and I gave my first choice dream answer which is to act on stage with Alan Rickman, but alas, unless someone knows him and can arrange a meeting for me or an audition, I doubt that will ever happen.
So, we then talked about my favourite hobby being 'taking clickage', or photography as it's more usually known. Anyone who knows me or has stumbled by this 'ere blog or my Flickr page might have figured out, I try to always carry a camera with me at all times, and also normally about my person is Aristotle.
For new readers (and those with the memory span of a grape) Aristotle is a small, yellow rubber duck who enjoys having his photograph taken with people, especially celebrities, and this is how the challenge began to form.
The next thing my friend asked what I wanted out of life, turned out to be a date with someone on the same wavelength as myself.
This is the extremely tricky part as the majority of those sort of chaps tend to be locked away from society for some reason or another. Other factors contributing to 'lack of dates', are that most of the men I meet or know, are either married, gay, too good a friend to potentially ruin the friendship, or total and utter fucktards. Also, the area I live in is not particularly famous for it's well-to-do, high-flying career types and swings more toward the can't-get-much-lower-than-the-gutter criminal types.
So what's a girl to do, eh?
This is where The Challenge' comes into play.
The first part of the challenge is to find a male 'celebrity'. Married ones are out of the question (I hate home wreckers) and due to my current financial status (Skint) they must be within the limits of the M25, preferably West, or North London although I have an Oyster card, so can travel.
The next bit is something I'm already practised at, which is to get a photograph of the 'celeb' with Aristotle. See here, here, and here to get the idea, and although not really a 'celeb', this photo's my fave!
Part three is to attempt to get a photo of said celeb with myself in the shot as well, like this one, or this which is also one of my faves.
Then it's time to try buy the celeb a drink to say thank you, and - this is the important bit - stay with them and keep chatting while they drink it. Apart from the time when I went mute whilst trying to talk to Alan Rickman, I haven't been too bad at talking, so I might just be alright.
The next stage of the Modus Operandi is by far the most difficult. Giving a 'celeb' your phone number is totally cheap and tacky, so the object of the plan is for them to ask to arrange to see me again or to get their phone number if possible. Far easier said than done, but a cunning plan of trying to get them to pose for a charity campaign is a good idea, and before you think any less of me, it's an idea I've been working on to raise funds for the RSPCA and the Alzheimer's Society**, both charities I support whole-heartedly. I still have plans for the calendar I talked about a couple of years ago.

So that's it. A challenge in five parts, which may be played more than once and has a genuinely 'proper' target in mind, although a date with someone is something I might not say no to.

And so, as you might have guessed, this is where you lot come in.

First of all, do any of you happen to know any celebs who would be willing to pose with a small rubber duck on them in order to raise money for the RSPCA and/or the Alzheimer's Society?

Secondly, which 'celeb' do you reckon I should set my sights on for a possible 'date'/chatting up session/evening of duck balancing? I've been thinking along the lines of maybe Russell Brand or Noel Fielding as a) they seem about as normal as I am, and b) they're based in London, but seriously, any incredibly funny, outrageous, non-married chaps would be considered.
And if they're into Duck Balancing, even better!

Answers in the usual place if you please.

PS. Just in case Russell Brand happens to read this, 'Hi', and this is what happened when my hair decided to copy yours -


*Wishes to remain anonymous because he's a total wuss.
**My dad was diagnozed with the disease, although he didn't die from it.

Wayhey, it's Wednesday again, which means that once more it is that time of the week to getcha yayas out and slip as many big ones as you can to members of your family/the Royal family/the Royle family/Her Majesty's Police Force/Take That as you possibly can!

I've chosen this week's photo for the Caption Competition after reading the results of the little survey about Really Annoying Adverts I carried out last Friday, and although there was no advert in particular that drove many of you to distraction, I was reminded by some of you how truly fucking irritating aggravating that smug cun arsehole ageing git Michael Whiner Winner really is.

Sadly, I have been told that my plan to capture him, hang him upside down with his head in a Fire Ant's nest after covering his naked body with honey and leaving him in the company of some of Hanwell's finest armed with some sharp toys, razor wire and a blowtorch might get me into trouble if I got caught, so my next best idea is to post a picture of him and let you lot rip the piss out of him instead.
And so, your photo for today's Caption Competition is -

Please give it all you've got. The more funny comments about the smarmy twat, the merrier, akay?

There's a Jelly Baby going for every time my box gets stuffed and a Jello Shot available should I get me a 69.
So what are you waiting for?
Get in there!

Excuses, excuses...

Just around the turn of the last century I was helping to run a pub in Surrey by mistake. I'd been there for about four months and during that time had managed to get the catering side of things running very well indeed!
I had a well varied menu with as much homemade food as I could manage to make on it, and as for the things I couldn't make, I had the best suppliers I could get.
The 'steak and chips for a fiver' deal was very popular in the evenings, and as word got out about my own recipe soups and stews, folk came from all quarters of the village for quick and tasty lunch of soup and a toasted sandwich, or anything else I could rustle up in the kitchen.
But the busiest day of the week by far was Sunday as word got out about my Roast Dinners, especially my secret recipe gravy, which one person told me was even more addictive than crack cocaine*
When I first took over the food side of things I'd made and prepared as much of the meals as I possibly could, but as we got busier by the week I decided I needed some help, and luckily that help came in the form of the then-partner-in-crime's 'adopted' daughter**.
She was a brilliant help. Every Sunday morning she would arrive at 09:00 hours, let herself in and get to work on preparing all the vegetables and tend to any odds and ends such as filling up the condiments and ensuring the cutlery and so was ready. All I had to do after a while was to get up around eleven-thirty to make the gravy, which as you can imagine was fabulous after a busy Saturday night.
I loved my little Sunday morning 'lie-ins' as I didn't get very many of them while working there, and it was heaven to be woken up by the smell of roast beast and a large mug of freshly steeped coffee, also thanks to her firing up the coffee machine.
But one Sunday she didn't turn up.
I realized something was wrong at about ten-thirty when I noticed that the usual smells and noises simply were not there.
I grabbed the alarm clock and realizing the time, kicked the then-partner-in-crime and told him to please get up and call her to see what was going on, and if she was still alive, where the hell was she?
I hastily put on some clothes and scampered downstairs into the kitchen and after throwing the meats into the oven, frantically made a start on the veg.
Again, I asked the TPIC if he'd managed to get hold of her, but every time he phoned there was no reply. Together we dashed about trying to get as much done as we could in the hour or so we had left before the pub opened and prayed that we wouldn't get a rush of diners clamouring for roast dinners, spot on noon.
As I hared about the kitchen muttering and swearing to myself, the TPIC kept trying to call her, but every time, no answer.
I was really beginning to worry when at just after eleven she came in through the door looking as if she'd been dragged through a hedge backwards, forwards and sideways for good measure.
Relieved, I asked her what the hell was she thinking turning up so late without even calling to let me know what was going on!
"I'm really sorry I'm so late" she replied, "But I was at the petrol station helping to catch an escaped ostrich"

The TPIC and I simply stopped what we were doing and stared at her while our chins tried to drop to the floor.
"You... what...?" I finally managed to ask.
Again she told us that the reason she was late was because of the ostrich
"Meh?" said the TPIC.
"Uh?" I added.
That was it. No way could I concentrate on getting anything prepared until I'd heard this story, and so I went and got a much needed coffee and the three of us sat down while she explained.
She'd been filling up her car when suddenly an ostrich ran past her. At first she thought someone had spiked her tea, but no, there really was an ostrich running around her car with two men chasing after it. She went and paid for her petrol and was about to set off when one of the men trying to catch Big Bird got kicked in a place that Sesame Street characters simply don't have, leaving the other poor chap trying to catch the thing by himself.
Now, the TPIC's daughter was raised around horses and figured that if she could catch a Shire horse that didn't want to go in a horse box, she could more than likely catch an ostrich that didn't want to go into an 'ostrich box' as well, so she asked the bloke if he had a long piece of rope.
Sadly he didn't, but a minute or so later a police officer drew up and although he didn't have a very long piece of rope, he called for one and after another five or so minutes, another two coppers pulled up with a very long piece of rope.
As you might imagine, all this palaver had drawn rather a large crowd of people, and as there was a very large and angry bird that liked to kick people on the loose, the petrol station owner helped the police to close the forecourt and try to cordon it off with whatever they could find.
The daughter then told the police her plan which was for one of them to firmly hold one end of the rope, while she hung on to the other. The other two officers and the bloke that could stand were to try to steer the bird toward the middle of the rope, and when it got close, she and the copper would raise the rope level with the bird's neck, and each run round in opposite directions, thus catching the rope around the ostrich's neck.
Thirty minutes and three attempts later, they finally got Big Bird back into the box and at last she could get to work.
As I listened, I wasn't sure whether or not she was telling the truth, or was what I was hearing the best ever made-up excuse for being late for work I'd ever be told.
The TPIC, knowing his daughter was prone to 'exageration' on occasion, was also dubious, but when reports came in later on the local radio about the escaped bird we realized she was indeed telling the truth.
The lunches were about half an hour late that day, but when we told the customers the reason why, all they could do was laugh.
In all my years spent employing people, that still remains The Best Evah Excuse for being late for work, and I highly doubt anyone can top it.

Or can you?

*I didn't ask how he knew, but if anybody wants to research this claim, let me know.
**My ex didn't ever officially adopt her or her brothers, rather when he started going out with their mother who was a few years older than him, they adopted him as their new dad. This meant that the ex's daughter was only ten years younger than him, and only four years younger than me. When she threatened to call me 'mummy' I nearly decked her.

Bonjour mes petits carcajous, and welcome to yet another week in the wacky world of the Blogosphere!
Today I have decided to do a Choose-O for tomorrow's entertainment as I don't believe I've done one yet this year, but first I have a little snippet of overheard conversation for you to have a giggle at.
I was on a bus and in front of me were an American girl and an English lass. The conversation went as follows:

American: Gee, I've been eating so much since I got here, I must weigh about a hundred and sixty pounds by now.
English: Well, that would explain why your jeans are tighter than they were, yeah. I know how you feel though, I've put on weight recently and I can't seem to shift it either.
American: So how much do you weigh then?
English: Eleven stone, eight last time I went on the scales.
American: Gee, how much is that in Imperial? I never got the hang of your metric system.

It was at that point I had to feign a coughing fit in case the rest of the passengers on the bus wondered why I was laughing a lot while on my own.

Anyhoo, on to the Choose-O, and your brand new options for 2009 are -

• Polizei!
• Excuses, excuses...
• The Accused

Choose wisely my darlinks, and while you're placing your order, don't forget to tell me all about your weekends, akay?

Over to you then.

So, Friday once again, and hopefully a weekend of fun, mindless television and big roast beast dinners will be involved very soon!

But this post has nothing to do with any of that. In fact, I would like you all to get as 'ranty; as possible and tell me what Advert or Advertizing Campaign, seriously makes you want to scream/smash the television into smithereens/grab random strangers by the throat and make them explain why the said reason of vexation was ever allowed to have been broadcast.

I have way too many examples to list, but my main 'bête noire' these days is an advert for Tetley Green Tea,

You can watch it by clicking here.

Finished? Akay. These are the main reasons why I loathe the advert.

1) Ok, so the model in the advert is getting all worked up and ready for a walk in the park with the emphasis being on 'exercise'. Then, when she opens the door and realizes that it's raining a little bit, she completely abandons the idea of going out into the world and instead makes a cup of tea.
Does she even consider the poor dog who's highlight of the day is going for a walkie?
No.
She does not. Instead she scuppers the doggy's fun and makes the poor, wee beastie cross it's paws for fear of piddling on the floor because she doesn't want to get a little bit of rain on her, the selfish cow.
If you don't believe me, just look at the pup's expression of disappointment at the end of the advert.
Bad, bad human. I wouldn't blame the poor thing if it widdled in her cup of 'oh so refreshing green tea'.

2) What the fuc bleeding hell has the theme tune for The Addams Family got to do with any variety of tea? Akay, maybe a tea that's been blended with arsenic, but a tea supposed to make you healthy? I don't think so.

Anyway, I loathe the advert and it seriously makes me want to seek out the person responsible and +++++CARRIER LOST+++++

So over to you. What adverts seriously get on your tits wick?

Please let me know in the usual place - links to particularly annoying ones will be acknowledged and voted upon for 'Stress Factor'.

Have a wonderful weekend, and may your God protect you from hideous and inane advertizing.

ttfn,

*mwah*

Akay, so ees'a Wednesday so'z is also Double Entendre Day; the best day of the week for slipping a big'un to a friend, colleague, relative or member of the clergy, so'z I hope you's all ready to start a'fillin' my box with teh good stuff.

Your photomaclicky for today'ses Caption Competition is one for the lads seein's as so's I'z mostly been featurin' pix of them with teh XY chromosomes recently, so nows I'z giving you one wot's got teh XXs instead.

It'sa coming up below, so please puts teh t'inking caps on for -

Enjoyz!

There's a refreshin' minty tea available for every entry, and a suck on a hookah going should I's gets me da 69, innit!

Getz in therez!

You lot out there are amazing...

Yesterday I was sad and cameraless, and today, thanks to Coralee's Campaign and your donations, I should be getting my dream camera within 5-7 working days!

I honestly haven't been this happy in a very long time, and I'm overwhelmed that you think that much of me!

You can't see me, but when I haven't been chocked up with 'happy tears', I've been doing my Happy Dance again!

Normal Blogging will resume as soon as I'm not at a loss for words*, and New and Improved Clickage will be along as soon as possible.

PS. I have asked Coralee to pass on any extra monies raised from the donations to be sent to the RSPCA in Pudsey's memory if that's alright with you all.

*Except for Thank You!

Just when you feel that you are alone in a Godless universe and out of Shake 'n' Vac, something will happen that restores your faith in humanity, and also gets you thinking that Angels really do exist as well!

I'll begin at the beginning.

For those people that have never met me, read this blog or glanced at my clickage over on my Flickr page, I like taking photographs. When I say 'like, that is a bit of an understatement; I love taking photos, in fact photography is a real passion of mine and (until Saturday) I had rarely been anywhere without my faithful, digital Olympus (or an emergency spare) in about four years.
I don't have any family or friends nearby to go out with, and my beautiful, darling, furry 'walkie' companion of sixteen years, Pudsey, sadly died back in 2007, so without my camera, I don't have any reason to go anywhere.
I'm not kidding you. Without my camera I feel lost; as though part of me is missing. I dread leaving the house without it in case I see something I would otherwise have spent ten minutes snapping away at, and also, I have nothing to hide behind and might end up having to talk to people I don't know.
Also, I'm just beginning to get my name recognized in the Clickage World. Last year the lovely people at The Londonist (who use and link to my clickies on a regular basis) asked me to go take photos to cover both Amnesty's Guantanamo Bay demonstration and The Great British Duck Race, and I was also asked to be the Official Photographer at a friend's wedding, and I was hoping that I might even end up getting some paid work; possibly even make a decent living out of my prints and so.
So, you might be getting the idea that my trusty Olympus is a pretty big part of my life. Without it, I'd be totally lost with no plans as to what to do next.
Going out alone is alright if you have a camera with you. People might stare if I'm taking a piccy of a small rubber duck perched on a statue, but if you just balance a duck on something then simply stare at it as well, you'd better start moving PDQ else the nice men with the large butterfly nets give chase.

Yesterday my camera broke.

It is now as those in the trade say "Shagged". It is totally broked, 'rubber-ducked', out of order, bereft of life, and if it hadn't been nailed to the perch would have shuffled off this mortal coil to join the choir invisible.
It nearly 'broked' a couple of years back when the lens refused to open and shut properly, so I took it to a shop where they told me it would cost almost the same price as a new camera to fix it, and as I didn't have that sort of money, I decided to fiddle with it to see what happened.
To my amazement and delight, it did the trick and behold, it worked again!
But yesterday it started to do the same, but it was far, far worse, and despite every attempt at CPR, nothing.

My trusty, faithful Olympus is no more.

Yesterday afternoon I broke the news to my Flickr friends by posting this piccy and the explanation that you can read below it -

Anyway, I thought no more about it but then later on I checked my emails and so and found this comment left by the wonderful and beautiful, Coralee -

"OK Misty's fans! I would like to start a collection for her new camera...
Please see here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/misty69/3205831667/
She's entertained, supported, cajoled and brightened us with all her writing and pictures...is it not time she gets a little bit back????"

I swear Cora is an angel in human form! Anyone who starts something like that just has to be!
Anyways, I read the comment and promptly burst into tears of happy.
I don't know if anybody will throw anything into the 'Misty's New Camera' fund, I'm just happy that there are people out there who are not trying to hurt me and ruin my life like some so-called friends have done in the past.
If it hadn't been for Blogger and Flickr, I wouldn't have met so many wonderful friends over the last four years or so.
If you are reading this, you know who you are and I'm sending each and every one of you a huge hug and kiss!

And I'm throwing in an extra big hug for the lovely, most darling Coralee.
Thank you for restoring my faith, honey!

By the way, if anybody wants to go along with Coralee's idea and help me to get a new, working camera so that I can feel 'normal' again, you can contact her by clicking here, or via Flickrmail on this page.

Happy Monday you fabulous, darling readers of mine!
And please, tell me all about your weekends and how you're doing, akay? I swear I won't tell anyone else about what you got up to, akay?

ttfn,



Extra, 09:34 hours. Coralee has set up a web page for my 'camera appeal', and you can find it by clicking here.
I've got a very big lump in my throat for some reason...

Hurrah and hooray, it's Friday today! All day as well until midnight and then it's into the weekend, woohoo!
Being unemployed these days I'm not sure why I get excited about weekends; after all, they're pretty much the same as any other day except that Casualty is on telly on Saturday and nowadays there's also Total Wipeout to look forward to*, but I still feel that weekends are 'special'.
Saturday is not a proper Saturday for me without an afternoon tea, and Sundays are just plain wrong unless a full roast dinner is involved at some point during the day. Twice if I'm very lucky.
This Saturday is going to be rather more fun than usual as I have a friend visiting me from 'Oop North' and he's asked me to show him around London so I have my comfy boots ready and the camera set to shiny in preparation.
I could have shown him around today, but it somehow feels not quite right and not as much fun as going out on a Saturday. Does that make sense to anyone else, or am I alone in my weirdness yet again? Does anybody else feel that weekends are still 'special' or has the 24/7, 'Open all Hours', 'Get It Now!' lifestyle we have nowadays taken the shine off what used to be 'Time Off' for many people?
Does anyone out there feel the same?

Anyhoos, as it's time for fun and frolics (In my opinion at any rate) I've decided to do a lazy post today and have a 'Tell us your favourite jokes' session, just for shits and giggles like.
I'll get the ball rolling with some of mine.

Q. Why do elephants paint their balls red?
A. So they can hide in cherry trees.
Q. What's the loudest noise in the jungle?
A. Monkeys picking cherries.
What's white and swings through trees at 20mph?
A. A fridge.
Q. What's blue and white and swings through trees at 20mph?
A. A fridge with a denim jacket on.
Q. What's blue and black and swings through trees at 20mph?
A. Tarzan after he's been hit by a fridge.
Q. How do you know if an elephant's been having it off in your back garden?
A. The grass is flat and the dustbin liners are missing.
Q. What do elephants use for tampons?
A. Sheep.
Q. What's big and noisy?
A. A hippo playing the drums.
Q. Why will computers never take over from newspapers?
A. Ever tried making an airplane out of a computer?
Q. What do you get if you cross an elephant with a mouse?
A. Very big holes in the skirting boards.
Q. What's black and white and goes up and down?
A. A Nun on a pogo stick.
Q. What's white and shoots across the sky at 1000mph?
A. The coming of the Lord.
Q. What's white and wriggles across the floor?
A. Come Dancing.
Q. How do you know if there's an elephant under your bed?
A. The ceiling is closer than usual.

Tag! Your turn! And I'm sure you can come up with loads of goodies, far better than mine!

ttfn, and I wish you all a happy, peaceful and fun-filled weekend.



*I do try to concentrate on the people falling into the mud and bouncing off the big balls without fantasizing about Richard Hammond, I really do.
But it is very difficult not to, what with the mud, water, big balls and so on.
*sigh* Maybe I need help...

Last Thursday was 'interesting'. Not because Rikaitch was due to arrive, that was a 'fun' thing; this was 'interesting' as in the old curse sort of 'interesting'.

I'd been out with the E.P.I.C. to get some shopping done and he'd asked me if I wanted a quick drink before heading home. I said 'yes please' and so we headed to a local pub and recovered from the Hell That Is the Local Supermarket with a bevvie.
We decided to go outside and be anti-social for a while and it was there that I met up with a person I'd known since I was about thirteen. I'd met him at a youth club in the last century and we began talking about old times and catching up on gossip from the last twenty years.
E.P.I.C. had to head off to work and so I decided to finish off my drink whilst nattering.
I still had time before I had to go back and the one drink turned into three as we caught up on what was occurring in the locale.

But time caught up and I explained that I had to go back as I was expecting friends to arrive, but as we'd started talking about starting up another youth club, he walked back to my place with me. We were still talking when we got there and he asked if it would be alright to stay and chat for a little while longer.
This is where I made a mistake and agreed.

He didn't want to go despite my politely dropping hints for him, but fortunately the ex turned up rather earlier than expected followed very soon after by the early arrival of Rikaitch with fourteen year old son Johnaitch in tow.
This is where things started getting very 'interesting'.

The chap (I shall refer to him from now on as Muppet) began acting very strangely indeed. First he began to slur his words rather more than he had been. At first I thought the three pints he'd had were something to do with that, but then he began to get far worse. I figured out things were not 'right' when he began losing consciousness so I called an ambulance and when I got through they told me that they were very busy but they'd send someone ASAP and to call back if he got any worse.
A minute or so later he was almost out of it with his limbs beginning to twist up and him gibbering incoherently, and I wondered if he was having a stroke.
I called the emergency services again and explained that he was getting much worse and please hurry up with the ambulance, and again they told me that they were very busy but someone would be there as soon as they could.

I'd left the Muppet with the ex while I made the call, and when I went back to check how he was doing I found him even more 'twisted' and almost incomprehensible. I realized that this was something far more than three pints of lager and so I searched his pockets and bag.
It was in the bag that I found a bottle containing some methadone.
Suddenly everything became clear and I called the ambulance services yet again and once more told them that he was getting far, far worse and that his breathing was unstable due to the methadone.

They asked me how much he'd taken and I explained that I didn't know but please would they hurry up with the ambulance as an overdose really isn't too good for a person, especially of a drug that supresses the 'breathing mechanism' of the brain.

The call operator told me to get the muppet onto his back and so the ex and I dragged him off the sofa while supporting his head and checked his breathing again. It was extremely shallow so I told the operator who told me the ambulance was on its way.

By this time his breathing was almost non-existant so the ex started to rub the muppet's chest while I kept a check on his airway. The operator was still on the line and was telling me what to do but suddenly the breating stopped. For a second I blanked but then luckily all my first aid training from years ago kicked in and the ex and I started CPR.

We got him breathing again and I told the operator and once again asked where the hell the ambulance was as this was really rather an emergency and we'd already been waiting rather a long time* I kept the phone line open and stared at the muppet. Each time it looked as though he wasn't going to take a breath I pulled his hair or punched him until I got a response and a 'snore' and it seemed like an eternity until at last a paramedic came in to help.

As I was holding the muppet's head I stayed next to him while the paramedic got his kit out and I explained what had happened. I helped him get the oxygen mask on the muppet's face and got as much of me clear of the defibrillator as I could as the paramedic got out a hyperdermic with the OD 'antidote' into the muppet's bloodstream.
All I remember was staring at the muppet and willing him not to die until the amblulance crew arrived and I was made redundant.

I showed them the bottle and told them what had occured and they reckon me must have taken the methadone while I was upstairs for a moment. The paramedic gave the muppet another couple of injections and at last he began to come round and say the he was fine; he'd just had a bit too much to drink.

They carted him off in the ambulance and shortly after, Rikaitch gave me a lift to the hospital to drop off the muppet's phone and check how he was doing. When I saw him he was concious again and he apologized saying once more that he didn't know what had happened. I explained that he'd very nearly died from an overdose and that he was lucky that the ex and I knew what to do else he might still have been unconsious or worse, dead.

As I left the hospital I saw the paramedic sitting in his car outside so I went to talk to him. I asked how close the muppet had been and he replied that he'd got there just in time it was only a matter of minutes before the muppet would have died. I thanked him and shook his hand before heading back home to see my friends.

I do not like 'interesting times'.

*Rikaitch told me that it took about thirty minutes from the first call for the ambulance to arrive.

Main Entry: Wednes·day
Pronunciation: \wenz-dā,-dē; British also we-dnz-\
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Old English wōdnesdæg (akin to Old Norse ōthinsdagr Wednesday); akin to Old English Wōden Odin and dæg day
Date: before 12th century
: the fourth day of the week
— Wednes·days - dāz, -dēz\ adverb

As yet, although I have found it to also be called 'Hump Day' I can find no mention of it being also known as Double Entendre Day. But I'm working on it.

And as per the norm on Double Entendre Day, I would like you to get down and dirty and start stuffing my box with all you've got until it's full to bursting and you lot are totally spent.
Your photo for today's Caption Competition is -

There's sticky bun in it for every entry and a cream horn going should I get me a 69.
So without further ado, get in there.

Scene 1. The time is 09:00 hours. Misty is in bed with the duvet over her head. All that can be seen of her is a foot sticking out of the bottom end of the duvet next to where the hot water bottle has been kicked out. The alarm clock starts to beep.

Misty: Mffmphukitshurrup

An arm reaches out from under the duvet and hits the area around the clock until the target is struck and the noise stops. This is repeated many times until all is quiet again.

A while later, it is 10:37 hours. Misty peers out from under the duvet at the clock and then leaps out of bed swearing and runs to the bathroom. A minute or so later she reappears in the bedroom and frantically rummages through a pile on the ground called a 'Floodrobe' until she finds the required items of clothing. She dresses with great haste, grabs her handbag and does her best to run out of the room. She enters again a few seconds later to grab her keys and mobile phone, muttering what sounds like 'Phuket' the whole time.

Scene 2. 11:02 hours. Misty arrives at the local hospital looking out of breath and rather dishevelled. She hurries to the right department and goes to the reception desk where there are a couple of Bradies in front of her and as they chat to the receptionist Misty stares at the clock and taps her foot whilst sighing. A short while later and Misty is at the front of the queue.

Misty: Hi there, sorry I'm a bit late but my alarm clock didn't go off this morning. I should have been here for eleven.

Receptionist: That's all right dear, what's your name?

Misty: Misty.

Receptionist: For eleven o'clock, yes? Let me have a look.

There is a pause while the receptionist checks the computer.

Receptionist: Sorry dear, computer says no. Are you sure your appointment was for eleven?

Misty: Yes, eleven o'clock, Wednesday the fourteenth of January.

Receptionist: That's tomorrow dear, today's Tuesday.

Misty: Oh cock. (long pause) Right then, see you tomorrow.

Monday again, and the good news is that I survived the Blogger's Bloody Big Booze Up last Friday, yay!

Jolly good fun it was too! I got up early after being bounced on by a young man, then wombled downstairs to return said young man to his dad, Rik Aitch who had stayed over to avoid paying out a small fortune for a hotel.
Then we set off for the wilds of Londinium in search of The Blue Posts which most of us managed to find without any problem.
There we were met by various other Bloggers, Commenteers and assorted Flickrites and had a fabulous time just chatting, drinking, eating and Duck Balancing until the people in the pub told us to leave for being too immature* For piccies, click here.
And then, we trundled back to mine via bus and burger shack.
A wonderful afternoon indeed, and a pleasure to meet friends from the ether and put faces to names at long last.
I can't wait for the next meet up!

And changing the subject slightly, I discovered this on Friday as well.

Games to play on the Underground to make the journey far more interesting.

Kiss chase.
Pass the parcel.
Musical chairs.
Statues.
'Misty' says.
Murder in the dark.
Hide and seek.
Sardines.
Blind man's bluff.
Chinese whispers.
Dodge ball.
Sleeping lions.
British Bulldog.

So, how are you and what occurred on your weekends?

*We had some people under the age of 15 with us and they wouldn't let us stay inside with them in tow after 5pm.

This morning started with a young man in my bed.

Before anybody starts clamouring for details, the young man in question was John Aitch*, son of Rik Aitch, who stayed here last night as today we are heading off to the Blogger's Bloody Big Booze Up in that there Londinium.

I am currently finishing off a large cup of coffee (brought up to my bed for me by John, bless 'im) and will soon be wombling off to get a travel card with my camera set to shiny.
So, if anybody reading this is heading up there as well - see you soon!, and if you can't make it - I'll be taking clickage and will raise a glass of something nice to you.

But afore I go, I shall leave you with a Spot the Difference Competition, your piccies for which are -

Difficult I know, but have a bash.
And also, have a lovely weekend, and don't do anything I would do.
ttfn,

X

*He had to climb on my bed to get to the Orange box.

Recently, I have been contemplating my photos.

In case you haven't trundled over to my Flickr page, I've got a lot of piccies loaded up there, but seeing as I've been Flickring for about four years now is hardly surprising.
My clickage has had a fair bit of interest over the last couple of years; not enough to make an honest living, but my name's getting recognized by some. Which is nice.
The lovely folks over at The Londonist use some of my shots on a fairly regular basis and also got me the gigs over at last year's Amnesty International protest and of course The Great British Duck Race '08, which got me my first proper Press Pass.
I've even managed to get my pics into print when someone added my 'w/ extra duck' set to Dig It and many folks went crazy over my 'improved' classic works of art.
But alas, I haven't yet been paid for any of this.
I have managed to sell some of my prints, and if anyone is interested in purchasing any of them, just send me a Flickrmail and I'll get back to you, asap, but as I said, I still haven't hit the jackpot.

Anyway, the main thing I've been pondering is where do my site hits come from?
It's not like over here in the Blogosphere where I can simply check my site meter and see that someone on the other side of the world read my post about Censored Pr0nography at 04:15 hours, oh no. Over at Flickr, unless someone lets you know where they found your pic, you won't have clue about what's going on out there.
And this is annoying me.
I can find out which photo of mine is considered the most 'Interesting' amongst the Flickrites -

and also which piccy is the most 'Favourited' among them -

and when it comes to which is the most viewed, I can find that out as well.
But I don't know why it's the most viewed, and that's what's vexing me.
So if anyone out there can shed some light on why this photo has been viewed 27126 times so far, please will they let me know?

Answers via comments box/postcard/carrier pigeon as per usual, thanks.

Yesterday I was watching a programme on BBC2 called 'Oz and James Drink to Britain'. It was pretty good fun; two chaps driving around Britain in a Rolls Royce towing a caravan to live in and attempting to drink everything they could find en route.
But one little bit was the highlight for me and has now turned James May into a Hero IMO.
It was when they were pub crawling between station pubs using trains rather than driving*, and after the second pub and rather more than a second beer sampled, James turned to Oz and asked "Where's the tickets?. Sorry, where are the tickets?"
Hurrah for a person using the correct use of the English Language for a change!
It really pisses me off annoys me when TV presenters, politicians, and people who should seriously know what the difference between singular and plural should be, simply don't do so. I mean, I didn't get a degree in Eng. Lang. but at least I was taught how to write properly and conjugate a verb if needs be, and surely anyone who has had a decent education should be able to do the same?
Government arses bods complain that children are not learning how to talk properly, yet half of the ones I see on telly can't speak correctly either so what example are they setting the kids these days?
Personally, I would like to pass a law stating that anyone of them who says something along the lines of "Where is our big fat paychecks?" rather than "Where are our big fat paychecks?" to have to write out the question properly, one hundred times, all over a billboard outside an inner city school then add an apology and explanation of why they did so.
And they should have a week's wages taken away every time they do such a thing in public.
And if they complain they get the cane. Or not if they like that sort of thing.
But not James May. Never James May.
I like him lots now.
But not quite as much as the Hamster.

Oh, and before I go, I have a photo for today's Double Entendre Day Caption Competition, and seeing as I've mentioned two out of three, your piccy for today is of the other one -

A half a lager for every entry and a pint of best bitter going should I get me a 69**

*Well sensible.
**If Richard Hammond is reading this, the drink will really be on me.***
***Did I say that out loud?

This has been my favourite moment of 2009 so far!

Today I woke up and had to scurry to the hospital, but to my delight I found a smattering of snow still on the ground. Of course I had to stop to take a photo.

On my way back, I realized that despite the proximity of the main road and major railway lines, all around me was silent save for the 'knock-knock-knock' of a woodpecker...
So of course I had to take another piccy -

A most perfect and tranquil moment.

You wouldn't think that it was taken eight miles away from the heart of London, would you?

Wow. The first Monday of 2009. So full of possibilities and promise for the New Year.
Or just another winter's day of being cold, skint and rather depressed now that all the fun and frolics are over again.
I know which box I'm ticking anyway.
But, as is traditional in New Years, it is time to ask the question "Have you made any New Year's Resolutions then?"
For my part I have decided to resolve the following.

• I will stop saying 'Yes' when someone asks me to do something I don't want to do, just because they need a hand. They can get someone who wants to do it instead; I'm fed up with doing stuff I don't want to do but have to deal with and the rest of my time should be as happy as possible.


• I will carry on going to see my new physio and hopefully, this one will help.


• I will tell someone immediately they upset me rather than dwell on the situation over and over until I can't stop crying and feel worse than ever.


• I will put my clothes into the wardrobe and stop using the floordrobe.


• I will try and learn how to fix a car. If I can put a computer together, surely I can figure out what a spark plug does.
  
• I will put my videos and DVDs back into their boxes instead of leaving towers of unboxed tapes teetering around my bedroom ready to attack the unwary.


• I will make an effort to go somewhere new to take photos at least once a fortnight.


• I will clear out my fridge regularly and not wait until the strange, foil-wrapped thing at the back starts moving before throwing it out.
  
• I will deal with cold-callers by winding them up as much as possible instead of simply hanging up; time permitting.

And that's about it. Not really 'resolutions', just a few simple ways of making my life that little bit happier and less cluttered, so I should be able to stick to them.
So what about you lot?
Anything you want to change for the better?
Your secrets, as ever, are safe with me. So tell me all!

Quick question

Is anyone else out there as confused as I am at the moment?
The reason I'm mixed up is because of all the recent 'holy days', bonk bank holidays, and weekends in places where there generally are normal, everyday days of the week, but instead, a Wednesday was Christmas Eve so some shops closed early. then the Thursday got replaced by 'Christmas Day' which meant that the usual Friday shopping hours were all different, and yesterday which was supposed to be a regular Wednesday was also early closing, but only for some shops and businesses, ie: important ones like chemists, Doctor's surgeries, banks and the DWP.
Fortunately I've not been compromized, but many of my friends have been left without access to money due to either the post not being delivered or 'emergency benefit places' closing early so that the staff can get to their staff parties early so they can get pished and not worry that some folk can't get an emergency giro for small luxuries such as food and heat &c.
I know that some folks reading this are probably thinking "Well, why can't these people organize their lives so that they know when 'important places' will be closed; after all, people that have children and work know when the important holidays are, so why can't they figure it out?"
I'll tell you why.
When you have no family and very few friends living nearby, you don't get to talk about stuff like 'Bank Holiday Weekends'. If you are all alone, ill, and trying to survive on extremely meagre benefits, talk of where the best place to go for a fun long weekend with the kids (provided you can all get that Friday off work/school seriously doesn't mean a great deal.
During my years in the workforce I got to hear from those with ankle-biters when the school holidays were, and being childless regarded it as 'The Season I Got Lots Of Overtime' because they would all sod off and leave the 'free' to deal with the mass exodus.
But now I can only guess that schools are closed as I find the streets quieter but the railway line busier with local police watching out for kids playing on the lines.
The main reason I'm upset and having a little rant grumble, is that just before Crimble I went to pick up part of a prescription from my local chemist being my very important anti-depressant tablets. I'd been told by the chemist that I had some tablets to pick up and as I hadn't had two months worth of happy tabs as per the norm, I found the (new) doctor I'd seen had only prescribed me one months supply.
Now, these days I'm reliant on the ex to get me to and from the GP's as I don't have a car anymore, but as I used to work at the surgery years ago, most of the staff know me well and understand my situation.
So, when I found out about the mix up I tried calling the surgery, but after six hours of hearing the engaged tone, I got the ex to give me a lift as he'd had some work cancelled.
I arrived and explained to a receptionist who I didn't know very well (she was fairly new) what had happened, and if at all possible, please could I have a prescription asap as I was getting withdrawal symptoms (I'd discovered about the cock-up late on Friday, it was now Monday) which were not much fun at all.
Her response was to inform me that I should have checked the prescription earlier, and all she could do was to let me have another after 48 hours.
That would have meant that because a new GP hadn't checked my notes, I was already more 'ill' and getting 'iller' by the minute.
I asked her about the opening times when it might be possible to pick up my repeat 'script, and was told that I could pick them up on the 24th. I explained that I was unable to pick them up myself and had to ask my ex if he would be able to do so, so I asked and he said that no, but he could pick it up the next day.
With a really supercilious smile she said that would in no way be possible, as I should have remembered it was Christmas, and the rules were that it was 48 hours for a repeat prescription.
Again I explained to her that I was sorry, but there had been a mistake with the last prescription and I really, really did need the tablets and please could I just get it sorted for the next day so that I didn't have to wait until after Christmas to get the medicine I needed.
Again she told me that it would not be possible, and to make things worse added 'Well it is Christmas, or have you forgotten?'

I took a deep breath before explaining that yes, I had tried to forget that it was Christmas, as I'd rather not be reminded that not only was it extremely close to the anniversary of both my father and grandmother's death, but as it was going to be another year without any family around whatsoever, I really had not wanted to think about the season of 'family get-togethers', work parties, going out with friends and so.
Luckily another receptionist that I'd worked with, was a friend, and knew my situation came to help and managed to sort my prescription for the next day came to my aid, but without her being there I don't know what would have happened.
I felt very small, very hurt and so let down because of one woman's ignorance, but after I'd got back home and had a cry I realized that I should not have let her get to me,
I should have told her that I too used to work there, and the first and most important 'thing' about the job was to make sure the patients were alright.
I may have made a couple of mistakes when I was there (not knowing that a man's wife was dying from cancer and the prescription was indeed, very urgent) but I knew when I had done so and apologized before making things right and ensuring that the patients were as happy as possible.
If that receptionist is reading this, I would just like to tell her that not everybody is as fortunate as to be living in a happy, merry, cotton-wool-wrapped world where everything is perfectly organized.
Just remember, there but for the grace of 'gods', you too could be alone, cold, ill, and not knowing if it's a holiday or not.

/ rant