Nail or no nail?

I've had my car for nearly six and a half years of it's seven-year life. And now I'm at that crucial stage in a motor's life when things start to go wrong. Big things. And all at the same time.

In truth, nothing major has gone wrong yet and since I've had the car it's been fantastic in the reliability, bits-not-falling-off department. However, the old girl has recently been giving me a few clues that indicate that some serious failures are not too far off. For example, when turning my steering wheel full lock to the right, I get a sort of metallic grumbling sound. Sometimes when I put my heater blower on, one of my speakers makes a fizzing sounds. The same speaker fizzes on occasion when the heated rear window is activated. Also, the number of creaks and squeaks seems to increase on a daily basis. My car appears to have developed arthritis along with irritable bowel syndrome, rickets, scurvy and manky hip. Oh and my gear linkage needs replacing soon or else I won't be able to change gear from 1st to 2nd. Or 2nd to 3rd. Or 3rd to 2nd. Or 2nd to 1st.

So I'm now in that quandary of quandaries. Do I spend some fairly serious cash on getting my car back to full health or spend some very serious cash (which I don't have - "oh hello Mr Car Finance") and buy a new(er) one? Hmmmm. Or should I just set fire to it and push it over a cliff into the sea?

Answers on a postcard.

What the ... ?

Oh the joys of political correctness. I got sent a nursery toys magazine at work the other day. God knows why as I definitely do not work in a nursery. Anyway, I perused the mag before lobbing it in the bin ... I mean, recycling it.

On page 47 I found the item pictured above. It's a joy to behold but works even better with the description, which I've kindly included below:

SYNAGOGUE PLAYHOUSE £17.06 (+VAT)
Age Range: 3+
Delightful 3-dimensional soft-play house which allows children to explore Jewish culture and the beliefs of others. The front wall folds down to reveal many of the features and symbols found in a synagogue, including: a menorah; ner tamid (everlasting light); a bimah and ark; a Sefer Torah and the Ten Commandments; and three people characters. Size: 26 (width) x 21 (height) x 14cm(depth) (approx)

It's just so fercockt

Stag don't

There are certain rules which apply to Stag do's.
1. Get drunk
2. Get a stripper
3. Get the groom tied to a lampost
4. Get a curry
5. Get home alive

I went to a Stag do the other week. We ticked off rules 1, 4 and 5. Sadly, the nearest thing to a stripper was when one of the party allowed his arse crevice to become visible when he bent down to pick up his fag. The lampost thing was a non-starter due to a lack of rope/gaffer tape/cable-ties/Rapunzel's hair.

However, we triumphed on the curry front. Until we began singing. We had been drinking for around nine hours and thus, after a fine meal, we decided to impress the other diners with our dulcet tones.

This video clearly demonstrates are 'barbers shop quartet' style of singing. You'll obviously recognise it as an acapella version of Eminem's moving ballad 'Stan'.

Hankies at the ready.

First aid - last resort?

Oh I am proud of myself. The other day I re-qualified as a first-aider. It's surprising how dangerous a little knowledge can be. The re-qualification course is only two days long which is half the time of the original course, three years ago. Despite this, I had emerged with a renewed vigour and confidence in my ability to revive the dead, heal the bleeding and turn water into wine.

The course was so positive and supportive that I was, seriously, feeling able to deal with a person who is unconscious and has stopped breathing ... as long as they have no arms or legs or abdomen.

You see, in every first aid training class in the world, all of the practising you do for CPR (cardio pulmonary resuscitation) is carried out with a life-size but limbless dummy who, for some reason, is know as Annie. Believe me, she's no looker. However, she obediently has her chest pumped and gob blown into on a regular basis so that people like me can hone our life-saving skills. However, you sort of get used to the fact that there are no arms or legs to get in the way as you struggle to revive this inanimate mannequin. This makes the whole process much simpler than if she were fully limbed-up and this gets you used to working with an armless, legless victim.

Now that's the problem. If I'm ever faced with a real person who's heart has stopped, I'm going to find myself having to carry out CPR. How the hell am I going to cope with the stress of trying to restart some poor sod's heart whilst trying to deal with all these body parts that simply weren't there when I was training?

Furthermore, when you do CPR your have put your hands "between the boobs" as our trainer said. This is where you have to start doing the chest compressions. Between the boobs. What if it's a woman who's collapsed and you thought she had stopped breathing but had, in fact, merely fainted. So there you are, kneeling on her arms, kicking her legs and scrabbling all over her boob-area in an attempt to find the 'right spot', when suddenly she comes round to find herself being groped and assaulted by a complete stranger.

So, after some reflection, I've decided that if such a situation does arise, I shall adopt the accepted approach. The course of action favoured by the great British public. I'll ignore it.

Unless she's just a torso called Annie.

Place yer votes

If you glance to the right of your screen you'll see a little voting panel. I thought it would be nice to give my (small but perfectly formed) group of avid readers a chance to say what they would like to see improved on the blog.

You can vote for as many choices as you like, so don't be shy. Apologies for the rather crap graphic - it's a little out of my control, but just about readable. So please vote and I promise to report back on the results.

If I can actually see the results ....

Virgin in the house

It was a bold step for me, but I knew I had to do it. I now have a Virgin in the house. Yes, BT were fine but expensive and slow. My internet is my lifeline and Virgin could give me what BT just couldn't. I'm talking broadband of course.

Well the chaps from Virgin took less than 90 minutes to install our shiny new Virgin phone line and broadband and everything worked perfectly, straight away. During the installation and being the type of person I am, I got chatting to them and discovered that being a Virgin installation bod can be quite exciting and even dangerous.

They told me that in some dodgy areas, large groups of kids follow their vans and then assemble en mass, waiting for any opportunity to avail themselves of the contents of their vehicles. Sometimes, the contents are just not enough for these young n'er-do-wells. Oh no. The Virgin chaps told me about a colleague of theirs who was on his own in his van when he got car-jacked (yeah I know it was a van, but that's the terminology) when he stopped at some traffic lights. They jumped in, booted him out and that was that. This was at 1.30 in the afternoon.

They also told me about this old grandad who made his grandson, aged six, crawl under the floorboards, for the length of the house in order to drag the Virgin cable to where the computer was. He made the poor little sod crawl through all the filth, spiders and general detritus you would expect to find under the floorboards, because he didn't want the cable running along his skirting boards and spoiling the decor. Needless to say, the little lad was crying as he tunnelled his way along, beneath his grandad's feet. I can't believe it. It's like the bloody 18th century when kids were made to clean chimneys for one shilling a year.

Well anyway, my new set-up is all working just beautifully and is twice as fast (4mb) as my old BT set-up. Even better, the speed is being increased to 10mb soon which is fantastic news for all of us who have Virgin broadband.

Even 'mole-boy' will be smiling again.