when i was seven we 'upgraded', as estate agents would have it. basically we moved from a three bedroom house to a four bedroom semi (which, incidentally cost a staggering £11,000!). as a moving in present my dad gave my mum Susuku. an African grey parrot. he was slightly scary at first but we soon came to love him. he was soon talking – saying things like Suku (which is apparently Swahili for parrot), silly bird and come on Jan (my mum's name).
he also learned the name of Cecil (one of our hundreds of cats) and Daddy Mick (our grandad) and would scream them whenever they appeared.
and he developed the infuriating habit of hanging upside down from the roof of his cage and yanking his wing out, causing him enough pain to scream in the most hideously ear-piercing manner whenever he wanted to be let out. Thirty three years later he still hasn't realised that he could perhaps make the same noise without actually hanging upside down.
anyway, about seven years ago, Suku started behaving a bit oddly: he got a bit stroppy and quiet and wouldn't shxt in his cage, saving mega 'whoopsies' (that's my mum's expression, not mine) for the second he was let out.
Then one day mum came down from bed in the morning to find that Suku had laid an egg! Yep, after 25 years we found out that he was a she – we only thought he was male because the vet told us.
anyway, he (I can't bring myself to change his gender) has laid three eggs since. well, now four, actually because yesterday my mum rang me. 'Oh Steve, I'm so excited. Suku laid and egg. Oh, and I've won an iPod touch!'.
The egg will be stored with the other 'emissions' (in a pot next to the spare bed), the iPod touch is being delivered tomorrow.
'It was from a raffle for the local paper. I won first page,' explained Mum. 'I'm so excited. They are bringing it tomorrow and want to take a picture of me with it!'
That's great, I say. The conversation carries on in this manner for a bit before Mum asks: 'Steve, what is an iPod touch?'
Bless
Friday, January 11, 2008
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
porn to be alive
we're very 'teched up' here in my workplace. computers, email, faxes, photocopiers. you name it, we've got it. we've also got this great email firewall thing that traps naughty emails before they get a chance to sully my inbox and make me feel dirty!
once every couple of days i have to log on and delete all the ones that are caught.
i've just done Christmas's lot and i must say, a pretty sorry bunch they were. now, i like a bit of porn as much as the next man (we all do, there's no point denying it), but i do wish these spammers would be a little more discerning in what they send me. do i want to see two hot blondes get it on? erm, not unless it's heath ledger and paul bettany. and only then if there's nothing better on. am i interested in a bored housewife and a plumber? only if it will help me plumb in my own washing machine next time i move! you would think that in this 'bespoke, tailored to you' world we live in, the spam squad could do a little harder. and learn proper English while they are about it. ok, i understand the need to write c0ck, rather than cock, in order to get it over the firewall, but there is no excuse for 'is you're c0ck to small?'
and, no, thank you very much for asking. it isn't!
but that's a whole other entry…
once every couple of days i have to log on and delete all the ones that are caught.
i've just done Christmas's lot and i must say, a pretty sorry bunch they were. now, i like a bit of porn as much as the next man (we all do, there's no point denying it), but i do wish these spammers would be a little more discerning in what they send me. do i want to see two hot blondes get it on? erm, not unless it's heath ledger and paul bettany. and only then if there's nothing better on. am i interested in a bored housewife and a plumber? only if it will help me plumb in my own washing machine next time i move! you would think that in this 'bespoke, tailored to you' world we live in, the spam squad could do a little harder. and learn proper English while they are about it. ok, i understand the need to write c0ck, rather than cock, in order to get it over the firewall, but there is no excuse for 'is you're c0ck to small?'
and, no, thank you very much for asking. it isn't!
but that's a whole other entry…
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
hair today
'please stop doing that,' my art director urged earlier.
'that', he thought, was picking my cold sore. only problem with that is i don't actually have a cold sore (i do, however, suffer from them from time to time. one year, i actually had 21 of them in a row. look closely and you can see the scars!).
no, i wasn't picking my cold sore, but i was 'bothering' my top lip.
it's microhairs, you see. annoying bristles that, when i am stressed, i try and 'tweeze' with my teeth. sounds ugly and it is! i must stop. i will stop! there, a new year's resolution and it's not even xmas. i'm also not going to drink on Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday for the month of January. of course i could do the 'not drinking in January' nonsense but frankly, who am i kidding and life is too short.
anyway, the whisker biting incident led my managing editor to tell us the story of her driving instructor who suffered from a medically recognised condition whereby she couldn't stop eating her own hair. i know! and not only from her head! apparently no eyebrow, lash or nasal number was safe. and let's not even think about 'downstairs'.
managing ed didn't think to ask her if she suffered from hairballs!
i would have...
'that', he thought, was picking my cold sore. only problem with that is i don't actually have a cold sore (i do, however, suffer from them from time to time. one year, i actually had 21 of them in a row. look closely and you can see the scars!).
no, i wasn't picking my cold sore, but i was 'bothering' my top lip.
it's microhairs, you see. annoying bristles that, when i am stressed, i try and 'tweeze' with my teeth. sounds ugly and it is! i must stop. i will stop! there, a new year's resolution and it's not even xmas. i'm also not going to drink on Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday for the month of January. of course i could do the 'not drinking in January' nonsense but frankly, who am i kidding and life is too short.
anyway, the whisker biting incident led my managing editor to tell us the story of her driving instructor who suffered from a medically recognised condition whereby she couldn't stop eating her own hair. i know! and not only from her head! apparently no eyebrow, lash or nasal number was safe. and let's not even think about 'downstairs'.
managing ed didn't think to ask her if she suffered from hairballs!
i would have...
Monday, December 17, 2007
bottoms up
it's party season, in case you haven't noticed (the pools of vomit everywhere and over-aggressive males should be a giveaway).
so i have been reacquainting myself with my inner john travolta. isn't it amazing how one minute you're a shy and retiring wall flower, who would much rather sip delicately on a glass of paintstripper posing as white wine than cause a fuss on the dancefloor and then suddenly, one old Madonna record and there's no holding you back. or holding me back. fortunately i'm more of a shuffler than a hands-up-for-detroit waver (my friend Jeremy turns into one of those multi-armed Hindu goddesses when he hits the floor) but i do find my footwork getting ever fancier as the night wears on and the white wine goes down.
i've also been reminding myself (as if i'd ever forgotten) that when it came to the handing out of off-switches, the Shorts were at the back of the queue, probably too busy quaffing Pomagne to notice. we just don't have them, you see.
when others are raising their hands to cover their glass lest a stranger fill them with glass/plastic cup/mouth...
luckily, i'm as disciplined as i am louche and have yet to let a hangover keep me away from work....
so i have been reacquainting myself with my inner john travolta. isn't it amazing how one minute you're a shy and retiring wall flower, who would much rather sip delicately on a glass of paintstripper posing as white wine than cause a fuss on the dancefloor and then suddenly, one old Madonna record and there's no holding you back. or holding me back. fortunately i'm more of a shuffler than a hands-up-for-detroit waver (my friend Jeremy turns into one of those multi-armed Hindu goddesses when he hits the floor) but i do find my footwork getting ever fancier as the night wears on and the white wine goes down.
i've also been reminding myself (as if i'd ever forgotten) that when it came to the handing out of off-switches, the Shorts were at the back of the queue, probably too busy quaffing Pomagne to notice. we just don't have them, you see.
when others are raising their hands to cover their glass lest a stranger fill them with glass/plastic cup/mouth...
luckily, i'm as disciplined as i am louche and have yet to let a hangover keep me away from work....
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
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