The Frumplingtons

Jan van Haasteren’s ‘Olympics’ is one crazy picture. Whatever happens at this summer’s Beijing Games, no way will there be as many disasters as are in this puzzle. The discus is hurtling towards the boxing ring; an Alsatian is charging towards the athletes, who are waiting for their race to start; and a long jumper, illegally assisted by big springs attached to his shoes, has launched into the air, only to realize at the last minute that someone is digging a mine at the far end of the sandpit!

The spectators, meanwhile, are having to grapple with a rampaging octopus, while down below on the track there’s a lion on the loose.

Looking at this picture, I get the distinct feeling it would be much safer to stay home and watch the Olympics on the telly.

Besides, you get a much better view that way, don’t you?

Russell Ash is our new favourite author. His book, ‘Potty Fartwell & Knob‘ has hundreds of characters and virtually no plot — just the kind of book we like! And if you’re the sort of person who enjoys trawling through the dictionary looking for the smutty entries (you are, aren’t you?), I think you’ll like this book too. Russell Ash waded through tons of old census records, but he wasn’t looking for deep ‘n’ meaningful insights into British social history; he was looking for silly names. Here are some examples:

• Edmond Sufferer De Mullett,
• Magic Muxworthy,
• Boadicea Belch,
• Gasoline McKenzie Yeats,
• Temperantia Google, and,
• Joseph Faggott Tempest.

If you’re keen on…er…literature (!), ‘Potty Fartwell & Knob’ would be an excellent companion volume to Far From Dull, by Dominic Greyer, which is a collection of photos of strange British place names (e.g., Ventongimps, Cow Roast and Sexhow).

Both of the above books are now part of our very own Library of Knowledge. Did I ever mention we’re a pair of intellectuals?

‘Singing Creek’ by Ann Stookey was easier than we expected and took us only a few days to finish. It’s a charming picture of rural life in America. It will all have changed now, though; most likely to make way for a ten-lane freeway and a drive-thru McDoodah’s restaurant every half mile. Big pics, as usual, can be seen on our jigsaw puzzles site.

The Peugeot website has a car parking game you can try. You’ll need that shockwave Flash thingy installed if you want to have a go. Oh, and don’t have too many drinks beforehand; you wouldn’t if it was real driving, would you? And no talking on your mobile phone. And whatever you do, mind the little dog when you get to the last level. Yes, I know I sound as if I’m nagging, but I just want you to do well, that’s all. I finished in just over two minutes. If they bring out another version where the car’s towing a trailer, though, it’d be more like two days!

The Senior Frumplingtons came over this morning, it being Father’s Day. It’s hard to believe Pa Frumplington will be seventy next year. He’ll have to curb his wild ways by then; no more fighting in the street, no more staying up till the end of News at Ten, and no more of those all-night cocoa benders he’s so fond of.

The SFs brought us a huge pile of family photos. Here’s one of me, aged somewhere around five or six years old (I think), riding a rocking horse. I might not be able to fit into the outfit any more, but some might say I’m still a bit of a cowboy at heart.

Yeeeee-hah!

Junk mail used to be a continual annoyance. We just toss it in the bin these days, though; since computers became commonplace, we’ve all had hi-tech junk mail to deal with instead. Even my ’silver surfer’ relatives, who live in one of the yuckier parts of Humberside, probably get regular email spam. I just hope they realize it is spam!

Old-fashioned junk mail (the paper kind), however, never made your letterbox unusable. Neither does email spam, despite its fearsome reputation; it’s easy to glance at the subject lines in your inbox and decide what you can delete straight away.

Telephone spam, though, can cause big problems. Getting lots of unwanted calls, often at the most inconvenient times (e.g., when you’re having dinner, or when you’re settled down in front of the telly in the evening) means there is only one solution: you have to switch off the phone’s ringer. True, you might miss an important call from someone who is not pretending to do a survey or trying to sell you car insurance, but that’s the chance you have to take if you want some peace and quiet at night. You could, I suppose, sit right next to the phone, where you can see the ‘caller display’ clearly; or you could keep one eye glued to the red ‘incoming call’ light. But why should you have to? You should be able to leave your phone on and not have to bother about phone spammers.

Did someone mention the Telephone Preference Service? (Ha, excuse me while I try to get my sudden fit of laughter under control.) The TPS (a free service) is effective up to a point, but if phone spammers choose to use automated number generators overseas, or if they are not signed up to one of those useless voluntary codes of conduct, there’s not much the TPS can do about them.

Alternatively, you could pay your phone provider extra fees and ask them to block the unwanted numbers. But again, why should we all have to pay to avoid harrassment?

Junk mail and email spam refuse to disappear, despite the number of complaints about them. They have, in effect, simply become a way of life, because they’re relatively easy to ignore. But can the same thing ever happen with regard to phone spam? Maybe it’s too early to tell. Just one thing though:

Don’t forget to switch the ringer back on!

1. I’m left-handed.
2. I own a green t-shirt.
3. Some of my old trousers don’t quite fit right either.

Differences? Too many to count. Nadal’s backhand is slightly better than mine, he has shorter hair, speaks better Spanish… Need I go on?

London is well known for its traffic congestion. This is not usually amusing, however, unless, like me, you live outside London; in which case, it is often hilarious.

Mike Jupp also lives outside London; Bognor Regis, to be precise, which is far enough from London for its traffic chaos to be not only amusing, but also a creative inspiration. Jupp’s ‘I love London’ jigsaw puzzle shows the capital at a complete standstill. A red double decker bus has been clamped; the irate bus conductor is seen trying to strangle the traffic warden. Stragglers from what I assume to be the London Marathon are getting in everybody’s way. One bowler-hatted City gent has found the quickest way to get to work: by hang-glider. This is a bit risky, though, because the sky is jam packed with warplanes.

This is all an unlikely scenario, you might think. Pigs might fly! But Mike Jupp seems to have covered all possibilities: hovering over the mayhem is a white helicopter with the identification number I-OINK and a pair of porker pilots at the controls.

It might all sound like a Londoner’s nightmare, but it’s great fun for the rest of us out here in the sticks.

More pics over at our jigsaw puzzle mini-site.

Our kitchen looked like a scene from the Mary Celeste. Milk bottle left out; bowl of cereal abandoned; coffee cups with coffee and sugar already in them, waiting for the hot water that might never come.

“Pass me the field glasses!” I said, still puffing from my three-yard dash between kitchen and living room. “There’s a little bird sitting on the fence opposite the kitchen window, and I think it might be a finch!”

I was right. It was a goldfinch. A fluffy little fledgling. Not a rare bird, though, but it was a big deal to us, because it was only the second finch we’d seen in over a year. It’s easy enough to spot big birds like crows, jackdaws and magpies. But you need binoculars if you want to see finches hiding, effectively camouflaged, in the trees.

And indiscreet use of binoculars can get you some funny looks.

So, for us, the best chance of seeing finches is if they come and see us. Their timing isn’t always so good, though. Fancy waiting till you’re in the middle of preparing your brekkie. I ask you!

Shana’s watching tennis on BBC Inactive; you know, all that press the red button now! palaver. It’s the Queens Club tournament this week. It’s only just started and the players are already arguing over whether the ball was in or out. As usual, though, Shana has the answer. There’s no need for Hawkeye. Why not simply cover all the tramlines with Velcro instead? Then, if the ball’s out, it’ll stick to the line. Genius!