Bungey – lead by example

Not content to wait until the bank holiday weekend, I have gone ahead and indulged in the art of bungey all today. I was up late last night just chatting and laughing with the ‘mrs’; until 2am! Now for anyone who knows me, they know I am no party animal, so a 2pm bed time is the equivalent to some serious raving – I felt so young (despite the truth on the birth certificate).

Anyway despite the late night, I was wide awake at 8am, but yet not ready to embrace the day. Leaving the ‘mrs’ in bed, I proceeded to the lounge sofa in my pyjamas and settled down under my magic blanket and watched not 1, not 2 but 3 episodes of an American series called ‘Bones’. The premise is a bit cheesy; “A cynical and lonely forensic anthropologist and a cocky FBI agent partner up to solve long-ago murders” and some of the science is questionable, but good entertainment all the same. After much consumption of crap (Pringles, ice cream and chocolate) ably assisted by the ‘mrs’, I discovered a triple marathon of….Bones! HURRAH!!! I am taking bungey to the extreme (I like to live life on the edge).

It’s 4.30pm and I have still not prized myself out of my pyjamas, but I have a feeling that my bungey experience has not yet concluded, especially as I have ‘homemade’ tacos (well they came in a yellow box) to consume and there's a Doris Day film on at 4:50 that I have never seen (a fact which I thought was an impossibility) .

So what have I learned today to enrich myself or the world? Apart from learning that doing nothing all day is incredibly tiring, I have learned some quality relationship advice. BEFORE moving in with the girlfriend or boyfriend, check their status with regards to Sky plus!

The pursuit for the perfect ‘Bungey’

I have spent a lifetime in search of the perfect bungey. Unlike what many of you might think, in ‘my world’ bungey IS NOT the art of throwing oneself off a cliff tied to some knicker elastic. Bungey is not a thing, a place, or an action…..it’s a feeling. After a lifetime of using this word, I have recently come to the conclusion, that at some point in my life, I made it up. Out of those surveyed about ‘bungey’, 0% shared my meaning.

Let me explain the joy that is bungey.

Have you ever woken up in the morning in your own time (no alarms or other disturbances), happy in the knowledge that you have nothing to get up for? Take this feeling and couple it with being super comfortable in your bed, regardless as to what position you lie in. Now grab the top of the duvet and cuddle into it. This idea of feeling enveloped by comfort, relaxation and no stress is the essence of being bungey; as demonstrated below:

Being bungey is not isolated to the bedroom. A typical ‘bungey day’ may involve staying in your pyjamas, lying on the sofa cuddled up to a loved one, watching DVD’s under a blanket with a box of maltesers close at hand. No stress, no responsibility, extreme comfort (usually provided by something tactile like a blanket, duvet, dressing gown or over sized jumper) and relaxation.

Now do not use the word ‘relaxation’ interchangeably with bungey (it is against the law). You could be sitting by a river, fishing and feeling perfectly relaxed and at peace BUT YOU ARE NOT BUNGEY. However if you were lying down on the bank under a blanket listening to the water, this has bungey potential.

With another glorious bank holiday looming before us, I demand you put your best foot forward and practise the art of bungey. For some, this may take practise. For me it has taken years of slobbery to become a black belt master in bungey; so don’t be down if you don’t achieve full bungey status straight away.

Good luck on your quest

Calling all fellow crap magnets!

“So what is a crap magnet?”, I hear you cry. Is it that I attract all the bad things in life? Is it that emotionally I put up with a lot of negativity? Is it that I succumb to bad karma? Actually none of the above. I am a genuinely a magnet for little bits of crap.

I am forever finding foreign matter about my person, especially my face, probably due to the twice daily application of moisturiser acting like fly paper. Aside from the constant awareness of walking out of the house looking like I have been dipped in hundreds and thousands, I have come to regard the discovery of random and unusual specs of crap to be an adventure. Not on the same scale as Indiana Jones, but I feel his excitement is on a par with mine.

So what sort of things have I found during this life long adventure:

* Bits of flaky skin (well who doesn’t)
* Random bogey or two
* Feathers
* Fluff
* Dust (human created and those generated from sanding)
* Paint (including primer, undercoat, gloss, emulsion)
* Sand
* Stones
* Woodlouse
* Food
* Bits of leaf
* Grass
* Straw
* Biro / pen marks
* Unexplained cuts and bruises (although technically already attached, is still an exciting discovery)
* A dead caterpillar once found in my underwear after a day of super speed go kart racing through fields.

So how does one cope with being such a magnet? My best advice is to, like me, have a partner who is happy to pick from you like a monkey mother (as long as they don’t eat what they find). Alternatively keep a small mirror in your pocket handy, otherwise you might misinterpret looks you get in the street as ‘cor I fancy them’ as opposed to ‘look at the feather on their noggin’!

I would be happy to hear from any other crap collectors!

*Happy picking*

Is it really homemade?

While I ponder over another brew, beautifully house in my 'I hate diets' mug, while the rainbow one is waiting to be washed, I enjoy my Bart Simpson strawberry (allegedly) ice lolly. During this time I consider the notion of 'what is homemade'?

I, like many other people in the country am not a good cook; a fact confirmed by the look of dread on my best friend face when invited round for dinner. I am however, a good compiler; you know, some veg here, a jar of sauce there and a bit of pasta.....but a cook, I am not. This afternoon I have been in the kitchen trying to make a 'homemade' lasagne, however due to the heat in the kitchen and my laziness, I decided to opt for jars; 1 of budget bolognese sauce, 1 of of white sauce and 1 of cheese sauce. Aside from cooking a bit of veg, and grating some cheese, everything else was made by Asda! Could I really consider this homemade, when all I did was compile?

If I put a part baked roll in the oven, I would not have audacity to call the warm rounded blobs of heaven, homemade. So what is the definition.

I read somewhere (o.k. that’s a lie, it was probably on the television), that a restaurant only has to add one ingredient to call the food homemade. This could be as little as adding salt to a tin of soup. Surely this is fraud?!?!

If anyone has any knowledge on the subject I would love to be informed.

Yet again, I shall leave you to ponder

A 'fart' ponder

While we sup our mug of de-caff brew (1 sweetner optional depending on mood), let us take a moment to ponder the notion of farts. I appreciate that an initial blog is usually all about introductions; who am I? why am I writing this? etc etc; however after finding 'The Little Book of Farting' on the bedroom floor, I just had to take a moment to comment on this great work of literature.

Now according to the bible of farting, men fart between 15-17 times in a 24 hour period, while women can only manage 8-9. So why is this? I can not see any biological reason why this could be the case. Is it a social and not biological reason? Women are not 'supposed' to fart, so maybe the farts are saved up (resulting in uncomfortable stomach grumbles) and only released on the toilet during tea breaks at work. Men however, seem to produce 'air biscuits' where and whenever the mood takes them; in fact other men would compliment them on the pitch, duration and odour of their erruptions.

So I appeal to all fellow geeks out there, in helping me conduct a little scientific experiment. Please keep a note of the number of farts you produce in any 24hr period, and let me know the number, your gender and whether you are a vegetarian or not. Now night time farts during your slumber can not be monitered, however if you share your bed with someone maybe they could inform you of any unconcious trumping.

Thank you from the bottom of my bowel and happy farting!