Alligator hides behind a sofa - what is confidence?

Aghast I read an article of news at the consequence of a town in Brazil which had been flooded.  It was common place for this town being it is situated close to a river. The thing with the local river wildlife though is it doesn't understand houses are for people only.  So when houses are flooded all sorts of creatures pop in for a cup of tea.  In this article a lady returned home with her small son.  She thought it slightly odd her son was behind the sofa so long.  So she had a peak and saw he was gently patting the head of a  5 foot long alligator.  At this point the article didn't elaborate on whether the mother screamed or not.  Maybe she is used to over sized lizards.  What she did next was to call the fire brigate, who removed said uninvited visitor and let him free.  The fire brigade stated the obvious. "they were lucky he wasn't hungry he could of killed them."  Well it was pretty obvious.  Personally I think the alligator was being a little bit shy and his hiding behind the sofa was in relation to low confidence levels.  I mean it's not every day an alligator takes a fancy to turning up for tea.

Talking about confidence, the past few days I been wondering what exactly confidence is?  Whether it can be defined in some way.  one definition I came across was: ‘the belief in oneself and one's powers or abilities.’  But this doesn't say whether it is a character trait, something learned, or a cluster of so many different things nobody can put their finger on it.  Because every body is different. Everyone has different levels of confidence.

I wondered, if human beings were compared to computers they physically would be the machines, but how each computer runs would be the software.  Further physically, there's very little difference between people as they are all of the same species and so highly genetically compatible.  Going back to the machine analogy, confidence for humans is a key factor in how well our software is running.  What we get in education, is another basic piece of software, we might call it the fundamentals of the operating system.  But this isn't entirely true, because with education if it were an operating system it would mean only the most educated people would be functioning at the highest levels.  So confidence isn't necessarily a factor of educational achievement or ability.  Although maybe a little bit is necessary.

Then there are some people who are not just confident they appear over confident and come across as arrogant.  Where they make a show of confidence beyond the norm.  Further it may not be related to their actual ability, but if they do have such an ability then their arrogance has some kind of founding.  But is not nice to watch.  (I'm thinking of a particularly talented footballer with equal amounts of confidence/arrogance who I dislike).  It's not nice to watch because you feel the need to take a bath after seeing it.  Like witnessing the arrogance of crazy Cornell Gaddafi.  In his case it is equally frightening.  Alternatively, being quietly confident and not espousing it is the secret to being liked.  Lets not even consider the subject of success and confidence.  The internal confidence we hold of ourselves is also different from confidence other people may have in us.  I may be confident in my tight rope walking ability, although I have never actually done it.  In this case my confidence would quite rightly be labelled as "delusional" but even delusional people gain status and gain followers.  (Don't look in this direction because it ain't happening, I can see from my BLOG stats it doesn't). No the problem with delusional people is they don't know they are delusional.

So confidence is a little like an alligator hiding behind a sofa.  If it's a big three seater sofa then it may well be a pretty big alligator.  The question is unanswered.  I wish though, I were able to give confidence to someone in the form of a magic potion, but like motivation, this is a quality each individual has to find for themselves.  It may very well be confidence is an alligator and it just needs a little pat on the head.  Mind keep a broom at hand and put the fire services on speed dial, just in case it needs damping down.

Tired and looking for oxygen

It has been a week of madness at the Fish Factory.  At times I answered the phone and even forgot who I was or whether it was morning or afternoon.  So today when it got quieter, I just seemed to shut down and go into a go-slow mode.  They'd had more than their pound of flesh.  They'd had a pound of flesh plus a quarter of chocolate covered raisins and peanuts, which by the way I haven't seen in shops for a long time.  Gone are those days.  Very far gone.  So after such a busy time there is a point where zombie mode takes over, this was the place I had gotten today.  Stretching out my arms and groaning.

My darling Sparkling Eyes sent me a Valentine's card the other week.  It arrived early. She apparently had bought it when she wasn't wearing her glasses and just liked the look, even though there was a pink written message on the front.  It was a little saucy.  So I decided it was probably best not to put it on display.  But right now I have taken it out of it's envelop again just to get another look.  Sparkling had written on the inside "never buy a card when you don't have your glasses on."  Like Sparkling I didn't fully read the text on the front and so it didn't register.  I had to close the card and re read what it said.  Yes she's right.  I'd probably add the rule "never buy a card until you have read every word on it" which goes quite well with her's.  Last night I rang Sparkles and she didn't want to chat to me because she thought her day had been boring.  This then became a game between the two of us.  She tries to get me off the phone while I desperately try and think of conversation to get her involved in.  It's not that Sparkling has had an uneventful day.  What matters is I am actually getting to talk to her and hear her voice.  Because I don't hear her voice every day, and no matter what it is she talks about I am interested in.  She then jests I am a stalker.  Whereas for me our conversation no matter how menial makes me happy.  Sparkles managed to shove me off the phone even after I told her I thought our chats were like oxygen.  She laughed and thought I was odd, but I know she liked it.  Indeed I can't help how I feel.  When you love someone and don't get to see them often then they are always on your mind.  Until you get told to do the dishes, or they put something brain dead on TV like X-Factor.  At this point the oxygen can be a bit soporific.

Not Type 1 but Type 2

Well there's a little bit of relief.  Big Momma went to the docs and was told it is Type 2 diabetes and not Type 1. She has some pills to take and has been advised to be aware of her sight deterioration.  Maybe in a few days time I'll get some undisturbed sleep.  With a bit less of the tinkle tinkle.  It's good news for everyone and a little bit of a relief.  Now we can all keep an eye on the biscuits and chcolates. 

Big Momma discovers she has Type 1 Diabetes

Today Big Momma found out she had Type 1 diabetes.  The doctors surgery had been chasing her up for a blood test for a few days, she kept putting it off because of the weather and not feeling too well.  Then the results came through and prompted today's phone call.  This she told me as I walked in the door.  So asked "which one is that, coz there's two types?" her response was "I don't know, but I got it.  The nurse was surprised."  To tell the truth it hasn't been a big surprise to me considering I hardly get a decent night's sleep unless I'm well and truly knocked out.  Big Momma is up about 5 times during the night to have a tinkle.  With a little luck this could mean my disturbed nights will come to an end as she no longer clumps out of bed, opens the world's loudest squeaky door and plants herself on the pan. 

The writing was on the wall.  I should be worried as well because I know it can be a hereditary thing.  Momma said I could eat the biscuits, I headed to the kitchen after taking my secret stash of chocolate covered biscuits upstairs.  Surprise, surprise.  There lay three different packets of cookies, chocolate, chocolate and hazelnut and I think a double chocolate.   I've concentrated on my own for the time being and now feel like I've overdosed, a little light headed, maybe even heart palpitations.  Thank heavens I go to the gym. I know I can endure the sudden strain on my metabolism.

I checked a couple of books on drugs and found a description of Type 1 diabetes.  Simply put it's the worse kind.  The one where you have to take an insulin injection for the rest of your life and monitor it on a constant basis.  I reprimanded Momma.  I know her afternoon pastime is a movie and a bar of chocolate.  She'll now have to attend a diabetes clinic and get lots of advise.  She didn't like the idea of giving up on her white bread. It's got a high GI index.  It's odd because she had to give a urine sample few months back, they said then she just had an infection.  How come the docs didn't notice anything else wrong is typical miss diagnosis.  I said she may make more friends, with those who have the same condition.  I intimated there was a diabetes stripa-gram.  It was a bloke who covered himself in sweet wrappers and would say to the girls "come on darling peel off a wrapper for something nice and sugary."  She laughed.  Considering Big Momma now lives for junk food this could mean the biggest change of her life is about to happen.  We'll see, but don't bet on it.  I can't see Cadbury's going bust any time soon.

Question Time is hit yet again by time wasting idiots

So there I am catching up on Question Time from the BBC iplayer, and as I'm watching the panel get questions from the audience.  I'm beginning to think there happens to be a number of morons amongst the overseers.  I look at the individuals asking questions, then spend a moment of my very personal time and attention listening.  My life ticks away like a clock. I wonder what they are trying to say and unfortunately come to one sad conclusion. Even on TV, a significant number of idiots slip through the vetting process.  If indeed there is a vetting process for audience members.  It is as though these sub normal participants have eventually got their heart's desire and noticed on prime time national TV.  If, it is said everyone is allowed 15 minutes of fame, it would seem this is the place to get it.  Put in an application to be part of the audience on a politically based TV show and talk a load of bollocks just because the camera is on you and they can't be impolite and tell you to feck off.  Which is the BBC for you.  There are no bouncers or apparent security personnel.  If there are they are very polite and stay in the shadows.  Why on earth can't the intellect sucking leaches be evicted?  Thrown out on their ears.  Given the boot.  Pulled of with a Shepard's crook.  Dropped in the muck.  Placed anywhere but certainly not in this time, place or event. 

Wow, got that off my chest and feel a lot better for it.

What do you do when you can't get to sleep?

I went to bed last night, physically tired and needing sleep.  Read a little bit of my book at bedtime, it's a thriller by Jo Nesbo where a policeman is trying to catch a bank robber, then let my head lay on the pillow in anticipation of slumber.  By this time it must of been getting close to midnight or even slightly after.  My eyes were tired, my body was saying in as far as it can talk "sleep, sleep" yet my expectation did not come about.  I thought well it is early yet and you can't really expect to get instantaneous sleep as soon as the pillow approaches.  Certainly this time round it was the case.  It was like I was on the edge of sleep but unable to go to sleep.  I would of liked to say I had drank too much coffee and it was the caffeine, but it wasn't the caffeine, I hadn't taken anything in the way of a stimulant.  Unlike other times when trying to sleep and it doesn't come I didn't think about sleeping, I just lay there.  At one point I wondered whether it was worth getting up out of bed and making a cup of tea.  Well at least then I would have an excuse.  I got pretty close to this, but again for some reason didn't.

It was odd, because I seemed to be in the mental zone.  You know the place.  Where if someone poses you a question or puzzle it is easier to concentrate.  Not to say the solution would be any quicker in coming.  It was being in the mentally alert zone.  I noticed everything as well.  The creaks and groans of the house, the wind blowing outside, Big Momma in the next room breathing deeply.  I was sensitised but not afraid.  Not afraid and alert as in Sparkling recently telling me she had gone to bed after watching the horror movie Paranormal Activity 1 then 2.  I didn't have the I-am-too-scared-to-sleep alertness.  No.  This was something very different.  This was the kind of alertness you absolutely desire when stuck on a very difficult Soduku and every body around you is making noise.  This was the kind of alertness where you can actually achieve things.  Great.  I wanted to achieve bliss in the land of sheep and fluffy dogs when the one thing I wanted wasn't going to happen.  It's all pretty paradoxical.  Just like a dream.  It might of been I was really asleep but dreaming I was awake.  Or it could be we are all asleep this very moment and our lives are just reality imaginings.  Blimey.  Sounds like I'm going into the world of Neo from the Matrix, if not some weird theoretical metaphysical argument.  The kind where I might say "A" exists where "A" is some random event.  Then state "B" exists as a time and place.  Then say all "As" will occur in a "B," which of course would be true.  However, my next statement is what if "C" existed outside of "A" and "B" and yet it was as real as anything else.  Yep.  This will get you thinking.  Unless you consider this is the ramblings of a crazy man, which could also be true and would mean "C" was a concept beyond the mind of sanity so could be disregarded.  Oh dear.  Whatever you do don't disregard my blue suede shoes, Elvis used to say.  If not it was something quite close to it.  So returning back to not being able to sleep.  I had some how entered a land of being completely relaxed but also completely alert.  Now if only there was a switch which could tap into such a state "on" or "off."  Which would be interesting.

So much thinking is making me feel tired.  Hopefully I'll sleep like a log tonight.  One which has not rolled over or wondered what it will be made into.  One which lays quite still and just "is" and nothing else.  Blimey sounds like another case of "C" to me.

Happy Valentine's - now what about a horror movie?

I managed to get a Valentines card to Sparkling in time, in fact she received it early and there I was thinking it might not get there at all.  Then today, the dozen roses turned up.  Awwwe.  Rock in the meantime had Dangerous Sports Lad turn up with a card wishing her happy valentines.  There were tears, lots of them I understand, a puffed up face and red eyes as well.  Even though he couldn't afford a gift this time round I made a promise.  Awwwe, he made her very happy.  And his making Rock happy makes me happy to.  Sparkling said the evening had been set.  The girlie's were all going round, she was going to get lots of snacks in for them and they were all going to sit there watching horror movies.  It's odd.  Valentine's day and they are choosing to spend the night with horror movies.  I really, honestly do not know what goes on in the female head.  It is a mystery beyond all mysteries.

In the meantime last night I got involved in car crash, catch up TV on various media web sites.  There was the hour and a half of the 50 worst plastic surgeries, there was an episode of Being Human, a documentary on Nepalese widows who apparently are completely shunned by society.  I tell you it had me in tears when I heard their Hindu Holly man chastise widows as women who had done a very bad deed in an earlier life.   It made me want to beat the crap out of him.  Then I ended at some point by watching another documentary about a single girl living in a flat in London who was in danger of having her small son taken away because of a violent partner.  Any trace of horror films no.  None at all.  I think my hormones are on the brink, I'm needing more tissues than the girls on valentines day.  As for bloody horror movies, I think I'd need a three seater sofa to hide behind.

They all want a bit of me and then don't listen

How is it possible to foster independence in others?  While at the Fish Factory I am finding as a middle fish a lot of the smaller fishes asking me lots of questions.  It is like they do not have a brain for themselves to go and find the answer or to work it out.  I remember when I was a smaller fish, I would work out for myself the answer and very seldom seek help.  I saw myself as self sufficient.  I could read the bible of fishes decisions, I could read through all the literature and then I would decide on my own what to do given I'd worked it out.  Whereas now, they all seem to come to me.  It's almost as though there is a dependency or denial of seeking their own truths.  It's easier to ask the boss, I'll not work it out.  So goes their brains.  I'm therefore driven to complete distraction and unable to do my own fish gutting which is starting to mount up.  Of course as the pile gets higher it also becomes smelly as well.  So what do I do? What is the answer?  I'm sure having a tizzy fit will not cure the situation, instead it will likely make them scared of me and scared little fishes are hardly going to get on with their job very well.  Perhaps I am treating them too much with kid gloves. Whilst on the other hand there are few options I have.  The tool of giving a verbal reprimand has been taken away.  Again it's a negative thing so would likely do no good.

Unless I can find an answer to this precarious situation I'm going to start losing my hair, become a complete and utter alcoholic and likely a zombie as well.  As well I find there is only so far I can go with these fishes.  I can lead them to water but it's up to them if they drink it.  Right now this bunch get led to water, have a sniff, turn their nose up because it doesn't suit their particular tastes and go walking off into the wilderness.

Happiness in being drunk

It's always nice to be told you are getting fat.  Especially by another person who is fatter than yourself.  And although I really should not bother about it, it does effect me.  So this evening I went out and had a walk, because for this week it seems visiting the gym just isn't on the cards.  Whilst visiting the pub has been, and yesterday I got drunk on my mere 3 pints.  But hell.  I was happy and being happy is one of the golden secrets of life.  So in my happiness I made a couple of phone calls to the ones I like to share my merry demeanour with.  Sparkling and then L & B Man.

I rang Sparkles, she was at home.  Or rather she actually answered the phone because she's been known to ignore it..  Yes, a little surprising.  I told her how I missed her and could of done with a hug.  I don't know what it is, but I got the feeling she was then trying to fob me off because she told me to ring L & B man.  I suppose when you are lucid a drunk man on the end of the telephone can be a pain in the arse.  I don't know why, but there it's there.  I felt it.  She also said I was now winding her up, which must be one of my many talents which comes out after a pint or two.  So I told her I loved her again and would ring L & B, for at this point her power of persuasion had worked.  I immediately ran Mr L & B man.  I was on the train at the time and it had quite a few people on it, but I really didn't care who overheard me.  L & B must have some kind of clairvoyance because I only said a couple of words and he asked if I had been in the boozer again.  One of the London gay pubs, because he thinks whatever pub I go to has got to be gay.  He then asked if I had spoken to Sparkling.  I said I had, his response was Sparkling must of told me to feck-off then which was why I was now ringing him.  Why this attitude I pondered again, what on earth is it sobre people have against the inebriated?  I did my duty and spread a bit more love and jollity to L & B and as I was having a problem listening to him on account of his telly being on in the background and not because of difficulty understanding his accent, then I thought it was best to leave him to his own devices.  I didn't realise but he was doing a little preparation for an interview.  I wouldn't of rung him up had I known.  I wished him luck and said I'd employ him.

Getting home I had a couple of cups of tea, watched some TV and hit the hay, feeling pretty good.  Happy, merry and still slightly drunk.  For some reason I could only read a couple of pages of my night time read, don't matter I'll catch up some more the next day.  I woke up this morning feeling not quite as good as when I went to bed, but it wasn't too bad.  It was even earlier a start to the day than the last week or so.  But one thing is so very true, drunk or sobre, happiness is still a big secret to life.  Lets not forget, seeing the cat as I open the kitchen door in the morning and finding he hasn't had a crap in his dirt tray.  Now I think of it.  Today was probably a pretty good one.

Stalked by my dentist

I am beginning to think I might be getting stalked by my dentist.  He's a nice enough bloke, but I'm going to have to let him down gently.  Well he is always easy going when I have to see  him.  It was only last week I last saw him to have an inlay re cemented.  Then yesterday a letter arrived.  The kind in a white envelop where it's difficult to see or guess who sent it.  Then I opened, the top was headed on the dentist paper, I'm now due my next appointment.  Why on earth a good relationship is being broken up by frequent seeing of each other is beyond me.  So what do I do? 

Gather my thoughts.  Gather my strength and make an appointment, I'm sure it's all coincidental. Bloody teeth, what would we do without them?  Suck eggs probably.

Pros and cons of Facebook - hypocrite

A few days ago, actually it was a Sunday to be precise, when I was completely at my wits end as what to do with myself.  The usual stuff.  No mates.  Don't want to go out as it was too cold and windy, no prospect of a chat with Sparkling and only a deranged Big Momma for company and grumpy cat.  I decided to join Face book.  It would give me an avenue by which to chat to some people now and again as well as providing it's own little distractions.  Face book games such as FarmVille and Glory of Rome.  It seems both of which also require friends or communication with other people to increase game status.  Anyway.  I joined it.  So spent a few hours trying to work out what it was about.  What I could and could not do to correct my personal profile, because of course being concerned with personal I.D. theft I'm careful about putting real details of who I am.  Then I was encouraged by the odd person here and there to add them as friends.  So I did.  Then I found I had been tagged on photos, and then I found I started receiving emails.  I think the count must now be in excess of 50 over a couple of days.  Which makes me begin to think it should of be renamed Junk Email book instead.  It seems it don't matter what someone else does in respect of my profile I then receive a notification.  When I don't really give a toss what they are doing, because it's only bits of me on there, not the whole me.  If you know what I mean?  I'm sure you do.

So besides a temporary addiction to a couple of games I'm wondering whether it was a good idea joining it.  Sparkling at first seemed annoyed.  In fact she had a groan at me, telling me I was a hypocrite because I said I would never go on it.  But I had.  I asked her if I should come off Face book and she said "yes" so I'm still on it and I'll make up my own mind when I want to come off it thank you very much.  But, saying this.  What a load of old codswallop people write.  It's nearly as bad as sitting in the pub listening to the Old Witch who should of been burnt at the steak for the dribble she spouts.  In fact this is one reason why I now don't frequent the pub as much as I used to, not to mention a growing waste line.  So at the moment I can't say I am too impressed with it.  I'm trying to see what the attraction is but it is escaping me for the time being.  It's like seeing the trailers for a recently released film, one with a good actor, great special effects, rave reviews and then when I've gone out to see it myself, hopes all high it turns out to be a load of pisshy knickers.  A bit like the smell of Channel 5 by the way.  Which is also a typically hyped up marketing product but even after decades still perseveres.  All I can say is if Face book doesn't show me a side which suggests it's something adults can use rather than adolescent self indulgent teens I'll have to think a little more and decide whether I should become a double hypocrite and kill off my account.  But for now I am enjoying the games.  I can hear someone thinking at the back of the class, "little things for little minds" ha ha, no I say sarcastically, read the dribble on there and you'll know what I mean.

Lady Gaga, Madonna and Superman - who's the odd one out?

It is a fact, the more you feed into popular culture the more likely you will be to get hits on your web site.  So I am conducting a little experiment and adding something different.  I'm going to talk about Lady Gaga, who I know little about, Madonna who I know even more little about and Superman who I probably know a bit a great deal in comparison.  So the odd one out is actually not one but two. Which by the sound of it probably makes the title of this blog a little misleading.  OK, it is, get over it.

The odd two out are Lady Gaga and Madonna and Superman could never be odd.  On account he has been round more years than the other two, jumps buildings in a single bound and if he feels like it can even fly, in fact flying to him is like walking and singing to Lady Gaga and Madonna.  Probably more so for Madonna because she's the second oldest and Lady Gaga is the youngest and I'd say the hottest.  But if I were to think of something Rock Chick said to me then I'd be pretty careful about saying Lady Gaga is hot at all because Rock would say Lady Gaga has got a little extra bit.  Personally I don't think Lady Gaga does have any extra bits otherwise she would not be called Lady Gaga.  As for Madonna we all know she doesn't have any extra parts but she is pretty Gaga.  I mean gaga in real life.  It's remarkable how when you get to learn more about artists or famous people and the curtains are dropped on their real character you find either they are not people you would want to know or they are more than eccentric.  Eccentric to the point of asking yourself why on earth did you like their music in the first place.  Not that Superman is at all known for music, but if he was then he would be under the spotlight.  But the reality is we all know a lot more about Superman in real life than M or G. Except for one thing Superman isn't real, which is a shame a blooming big shame because that would also mean Lois Lane was real as well and she is someone every man would like to meet, but we'd never manage to deal with the competition.

Now Superman's alter ego is the mild mannered Clarke Kent.  A very nice chap if I may say so.  He wears glasses and is always in a suit.  Madonna's alter ego is:  Madonna Louise Veronica Ciccone.  The Ciccone would suggest she has a Italian heritage.  In which case you have to admire Guy Richie who didn't end pushing up daisies in some remote field somewhere.  Whilst Lady Gagga's alternate self is: Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta.  Actually I quite like the name Stefani, but as some other pop heroine has this as a last name it would probably cause some confusion amongst all the teeny fans, who listen to such music.  You see hormones and pop music usually lead to some kind of brain malfunction in teens that they forget a lot of stuff.  Fortunately parents do try to keep them in the know by shouting their name at them as much as possible.  Unfortunately it doesn't seem to work.  You would of thought parents have learnt this lesson as well.  On account they were once teenagers and they ignored their own name being shouted to.

 Which brings me to the conclusion what is there in a name after all?  And how come there isn't any just ordinary named people who are famous and looked upon with great respect.  You know.  Like Fred Blogs.  Now if Fred Bloggs was actually called Lady Gagga it would be quite interesting if he'd be as famous as she is.  On the other hand, I can hear Rock saying Fred Bloggs is Lady Gaga.  Great.  Maybe I should change my pop icon to someone different.  Someone where there can be no gender question or ambivalence, yes.  Like Boy George maybe.

Watching Scotland lose at Rugby and avoiding food poisoning

It's Saturday and feels quiet, like I don't have anything in particular to do, but were I to put my mind to it I'm sure I would find something. It's a little bit like the feeling you get when you know you should be studying for an exam but can't be bothered, because study just doesn't excite, and no matter  how much you try it either doesn't go in or you can't remember it.  This unfortunately was probably why I failed all my exams at school.  Then to be marked with the curse of an underachiever and worthy of nothing.  What a poor world it is to judge someone as a failure because they just don't pass an exam, which used to be how I felt.

So I console myself as I watch the rugby action, it's Scotland versus France.  I've sent a couple of text messages to L & B man, on account he's Scottish and probably going to be interested in Scotland losing.  The game is fast paced, I'm watching it now.  So far France is in the lead 17 to 7, the Scots are used to losing so it won't be too bad if they don't win.  If they win they will get pissed.  If they lose they'll get pissed.  I used to think I should support Scotland because of Sparkling an all.  But then when I found the Scots would even support Germany if they were playing England I changed my views. It maybe an archaic and stereotypical set of biases held by both nations and unfortunately one which seems to be perpetuated, but if someone is willing to challenge and break that view then surely the other side should do the same.  They didn't for me, so if Scotland lose, touch haggis.  The first half is over and there is no change in the score.  Yep, looks like there's some work to do if they want to come back.  I know if Sparkling isn't at work she will be watching the rugby.  She's got a thing about rugby players.  I think it might be the big thighs.  I'm sure it's not the cauliflower ears.

Big momma made lunch today.  It was toad in the hole.  Normally something I like.  Yet there was something wrong with the batter, it was half cooked.  I tried a bit of sausage, which had an odd taste to it.  There was something again not quite right about the taste, I asked if it was in date.  "Yes" I was told.  I didn't eat any more, went to the fridge found the packet and found it was 5 days out of date.  If the fridge was having one of it's freezing everything phases it might of been alright, but it doesn't feel particularly cold.  So I went without and did what I normally do when I can't trust a thing cooked by momma.  Go to a cafe and eat there.  I've had more cafe food in my life than momma has cooked hot dinners.  Otherwise I'd be in the hospital every couple of weeks and knowing the docs by their first name.

I pop in and out of the rugby window, listening while typing.  Oh dear.  France have scored again it's now 24 to 7, another bad day for Scotland. I'm caught in the action of the game and before I know it Scotland have scored a try.  I hear the bag pipes from somewhere in the crowd of supporters and yes although I am English I'm shouting for Scotland.   The score is now 24 to 14.  It must of been the bag pipes.  The sound of a dead cat puffed up with air and being squeezed under someones arm pit.  How comes so many of the French players have names which sound like toilets?  It must be the language.  The ref is having his say.   Oh shame, another missed kick from the French, and they were the ones who invented the Exocet missile.  There's another try by the French.  Nice play 31 to 14.  Maybe Scotland could loan a couple of English players, just for this game.  No, don't think it will happen.  I must say though.  Rugby is a team game, much more than footy and I was once told there's a position for every type of body shape.  Even fat men.  Well it's all over now 34 to 21, looks like someone hasn't been eating their greens.

Two seater sofa versus three seater sofa - three please

Sparkling has been on the look out for a suite and has seen a possible candidate.  A two seater and a three seater, there may even be a single but I can't remember what she said.  So much for building up a great memory this year.  It's a fabric one and in pretty good nick.  The only problem with the suite is whether it will fit through the door so she is going to measure it up and get L & B man to have a look to see what he thinks. 

The thought of a three seater settee almost made my heart jump, I smiled.  Thinking of the time when I'd been relegated to the sofa, which is presently only two a seater and is just no good at all for laying on.  With only two choices of position, curled up in a ball, which after a while makes you feel a bit cramped, or the other position which is hanging your legs over the arm at one end and head laying on the arm at the other end.  My legs then end up with cramp, or my feet cold because there's nothing covering them.  The number of hours sleep is reduced by half.  Not forgetting the cat who then with tail in the air and superiority goes up to stairs to take up the vacant space on the bed and lick himself, purring all along. But there are times when Sparkling has fallen asleep on the sofa when she's tired or inebriated and I'm sure she's woken up cramped and aching as well. Yes, so the idea of stretching out at a reasonable length on a three seater is so welcoming.  Then being in Sparkles bad books wont actually mean losing additional hours of rest.  It might even be comfy.  I hope so, I'm thinking of it now, bloody weird. 

I managed to get my inlay cemented back on the tooth today.  It's a good feeling, there was a space left behind big enough to put a sofa in.  I worried if I carried on with it then the thing would crack, which might have meant losing the tooth.  Eating on the left side of my mouth has been a pain as well.  It felt like eating slowly I was becoming a conscientious girl on a sparrows knee cap diet.  Now I can really tuck into my food.  Which will likely mean I can get fatter if I'm not careful.  Then I'm sure a three seater sofa would be pretty useful.

Exercise - do eyebrows count?

I sat on the exercise carpet, pulled the soles of my feet together and willed my knees down.  Then I caught myself in the mirror, and for five minutes exercised my eyebrows up and down.  Listening to the music I tried to make them synchronise to it, I thought of doing an eyebrow Mexican wave.  Tried it a couple of times and just couldn't pull it off.  Nearly but not quite.  Next was to try and create a Uni-brow by frowning hard but nope, those thick caterpillars didn't meet up.  By the end of the track I then realised eyebrow exercise doesn't count in the gym and wouldn't result in a sweat. However, I'm sure there must of been the odd calorie burnt.