The Frumplingtons

Had an interesting visitor the other day. According to the stats, they came via a search on Technorati. And what were they looking for? Well, strangely enough they came in search of posts about ‘readers digest junk mail’. I know: it’s the bane of all our lives, ain’t it?

And then I spotted the visitor’s ISP: none other than the Readers Digest Association itself!

So, it seems that even they refer to it as ‘junk mail’.

Now all we have to do is train them to stop posting the bloomin’ stuff. You never know, it might just happen…

We’ve been watching Star Trek: Deep Space 9 on Virgin1 for just over a month but the effects, at least for me, might already be irreversible. Just a few days ago, I found myself saying it might be a good idea to look out for any Star Trek conventions that might be taking place in our local area.

“I even know who I would go as,” I said, but I think Shana had already guessed.

“Yes, Chief O’Brien,” I grinned, “the genial and utterly dependable head of DS9’s engineering department.”

There was no stopping me: “I’ve already got a set of spanners, so I should be fairly convincing. All I need is for you to make me a suitable uniform.”

Shana couldn’t resist asking a question though:

“I suppose you’ll be wanting a curly perm wig to complete the look then, will you?”

Silence.

And then, after but a few moments’ thought,

“Er, no, it’s OK. I’ve changed my mind,” I said. “I think I’ll go as Dax instead!”

Appearing at a cinema near you this Christmas. Certificate PG. Contains strong blue fluffy horror and axe-wielding themes.

At the checkout in Marks and Spencer’s earlier this week:

SHANA: Looking intently at the luxury Swiss chocolate bars just before the conveyor belt.

ME: You can’t have any of that chocolate. Those bars are not for sale. They’re for display purposes only.

SHANA: Adopts mock-disgruntled expression.

Apparently, unbeknown to me (occupied as usual with inventing such new witticisms as this) the man in the queue before us had overheard our jokey exchange and had looked disgusted, as if he really believed I could be so mean as to deny Shana a choccy bar.

That’s been my problem throughout life though: I’m always being misunderstood.

First they were banned from smoking inside pubs and clubs. Now, smoking could be banned outside pubs too. It makes sense though, when you consider all the cigarette-related violent crime and smoking-related road traffic accidents that happen every day in Britain. Heaven forbid they should ever ban boozing in the street! That would be going just too far.

Of course, when I say ‘artists’, what I really mean is ‘piss-artists’.

According to research carried out by Liverpool John Moore’s University, using data from both the NHS and the police, and reported in today’s Lincolnshire Echo.

• More men drink themselves to death in Lincoln than anywhere else in the East Midlands.
• Lincoln has the highest levels of binge-drinking out of the 40 local authorities in the region.
• Lincoln is in the top five local authorities in categories including alcohol related hospital admissions and violent crime.

Worryingly, the Echo also says that “even more alcohol-fuelled incidents are expected to blight the city centre in the run-up to Christmas”.

Just seen a really funny ad for John West boneless, skinless salmon. This one features a John West fisherman fighting a bear over a salmon. Apparently, the ad (or a version of it) has been used before, back in 2001. Darned if I can remember that far back though. Buy JW salmon and you get a free plush bear. Gotta be worth it, hasn’t it?

It’s only the middle of November, but in parts of the UK winter has already arrived: 4 inches of snow fell in the West Midlands overnight. East Midlands airport runway had to be closed for a time. And, inevitably, motorway crashes happened almost immediately. Snow pics here.

Oops! Slight foul up on comments front. Bit of coding missing. Back now anyway. Comments working OK again. Leave comment if you want. TTFN et cetera…

Sad news this week concerning my beloved pink kettle. The plastic hinge on its diddy little limescale filter doodad has weakened so much that it has almost broken off. A new kettle is on order; not a Swan this time, but one with, we hope, a more robust filter. The pink one will, as the saying goes, be mothballed before the month is out. Maybe ‘mothballed’ is the wrong word: ’shoved in the cupboard out of sight’ would probably be a more accurate description of its fate.

Of course, the pink kettle doesn’t have to go in the cupboard under the stairs. There are other options open to me.

I could autograph it and auction it off for Children In Need. Think about it: an authentic piece of Frumplingtons memorabilia. Can I start the bidding at, say, 50p?

Or I could take the Red Hot Chili Peppers option. You know: give it away, give it away, give it away, give it away now.

Or I could just take the easy — if less environmentally friendly — way out: stick it in the bin and send it to the local tip, and to hell with anti-landfill campaigners!