Just read this on a website and it made me laugh.

In the year 2004, the Lord came unto Noah, who was now living in Britain, and said, “Once again, the earth has become wicked and over-populated and I see the end of all flesh before me. Build another Ark and save two of every living thing along with a few good humans.”

He gave Noah the blueprints, saying, “You have six months to build the Ark before I will start the unending rain for 40 days and 40 nights.”

Six months later, the Lord looked down and saw Noah weeping in his yard… but no ark. “Noah,” He roared, “I’m about to start the rain! Where is the Ark?”

“Forgive me, Lord,” begged Noah. ” But things have changed. I needed a building permit. I’ve been arguing with the inspector about the need for a sprinkler system in the Ark. My neighbours claim that I’ve violated the neighbourhood zoning laws by building it in my yard and also exceeding the height limitations. We had to go to the Development Appeal Board for a decision. Then a bond had to be posted for the future costs of moving power and other overhead obstructions, to clear the passage for the Ark’s move to the sea. I argued that the sea would be coming to us, but they would hear nothing of it.

“Getting the wood was another problem. There’s a ban on cutting local trees in order to save the spotted owl. I tried to convince the environmentalists that I needed the wood to save the owls. But no go! When I started gathering the animals, I got sued by an animal rights group. They insisted that I was confining wild animals against their will. As well, they argued the accommodation was too restrictive and it was cruel and inhumane to put so many animals in a confined space.

“Then the British Environmental Office ruled that I couldn’t build the Ark until they’d conducted an environmental impact study on your proposed flood. I’m still trying to resolve a complaint with the Human Rights Commission on how many minorities I’m supposed to hire for my building crew. Also, the trades unions say I can’t use my sons. They insist that I have to hire only Union workers with Ark building experience.

“To make matters worse, the Inland Revenue seized all my assets, claiming that I’m trying to leave the country illegally with endangered species. So, forgive me, Lord, but it would take at least ten years for me to finish this Ark.”

Suddenly the skies cleared, the sun began to shine, and a rainbow stretched across the sky.

Noah looked up in wonder and asked, “You mean you’re not going to destroy the world?”

“No need,” said the Lord. “The Government is doing it for me.”

Follow-up to Headless Chicken

ETA: And just when we thought it was safe to come out of the bomb shelter, at a quarter to five Jenny says ‘What’s that envelope on the table?’

…

(Published on 3 December after appropriate amount of time has passed for suitable distancing from event)

This is me today. I have killed three trees due to my lack of grey matter and subsequent flagrant waste of paper, scuffed my lovely boots through tripping on uneven pavement, had the pleasure of partaking of Viva’s excuse for sushi, and am currently trying to survive on Red Bull while trying to do work that was due yesterday.

When is Christmas?

And thank God for couriers. Ooh, and Deutsche Post who have brought me my lovely order from Germany in two working days (something from Dr Hauschka which I am determined to enjoy tonight, if you’re interested in things like that).

On Friday night, emerged from bedroom triumphant after having miraculously learnt how to curl my hair with my straighteners without looking like I’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. On Friday night, ate parsnips and sorbet for dessert.

On Saturday, got up bright and early for a test drive in the new Skoda Fabia Estate 1.9 TDi Elegance and was very impressed with the ride. Diesel engines rock. Prestige Garage in Coventry rocks for matching our Internet deal. (Coming soon to a blog near you: rhapsodies about new cars.) On Saturday after test drive visited spanking new Tesco Extra at Arena Park, was (probably) undercharged for breakfast, spent blissful amount of time wandering around Tesco aisles and bought two basic long-sleeved tees to wear under jumpers for the princely amount of £4.

Still on Saturday, watched a friend manfully deliver a performance as Curly in Oklahoma! at the Swan Theatre in Stratford. Quite apart from grinning at James with permed hair (and appreciating that voice!), had great fun chortling at the (brilliant) Ali Hakim.

On Sunday, after coming home from Mass, slept (and slept). At 4pm transmogrified into Domestic Goddess and whizzed through piles of ironing. At 7pm started the pile of work I’d brought home from the office on Friday and ignored the whole weekend. At 8pm was completely surprised by Him with the most wonderful card and self-penned poem and [burble]lots of Waterstone’s vouchers!!!![/burble]. At 8pm, realised that despite the work it was one of the best weekends I’d had in ages, thanks to Him.

Not in the sense of not eating protein and carbohydrates together, as the phrase is commonly understood, but in the sense of ordering both honey-roasted parsnips and ice-cream/sorbet for dessert. Our waiter at Eden Restaurant where Him and I went for a gorgeous meal last night to celebrate our first anniversary (not till Monday though!) now thinks I am a bit barmy, but I think the fact that I’d made a bit of an effort for a change meant that I could distract him with fluttery eyelashes.

In two days, one year today. I don’t quite know how that happened so quickly, but I do know that in the past year I’ve probably been the happiest I’ve ever been.

Especially when Him drops his parsnip in his cheese plate.

Follow-up to Losing my – mind

This morning I left the house, got in the car and was driven a considerable distance to work before realising I couldn’t see. I’d left my spectacles at home, you see (oh the humour). You would have thought this would have been something substantial enough to have been noticed earlier, but this was clearly not to be.

It would probably be in my best interests not to write such implicatory (now does that even mean what I want it to mean? Well, it does now) entries, but I found it amusing in such an unfortunate way I just had to.

I don’t usually like forwarded emails, but my Dad recently sent me this and it really made me smile.

COST OF RAISING CHILDREN - LOOK AGAIN

I have repeatedly seen the breakdown of the cost of raising a child, but this is the first time I have seen the rewards listed this way. It’s nice, really nice!! The government recently calculated the cost of raising a child from birth to 18 and came up with $160,140 for a middle income family. Talk about sticker shock! That doesn’t even touch college tuition.

But $160,140 isn’t so bad if you break it down. It translates into $8,896.66 a year, $741.38 a month, or $171.08 a week. That’s a mere $24.24 a day! Just over a dollar an hour. Still, you might think the best financial advice is don’t have children if you want to be “rich.” Actually, it is just the opposite. Let’s see – what do you get for your $160,140?

Naming rights. First, middle, and last! Glimpses of God every day. Giggles… under the covers every night. More love than your heart can hold. Butterfly kisses and Velcro hugs. Endless wonder over rocks, ants, clouds, and warm cookies. A hand to hold, usually covered with jelly or chocolate. A partner for blowing bubbles, flying kites, building sand castles, and skipping down the sidewalk in the pouring rain. Someone to laugh yourself silly with, no matter what the boss said or how your stocks performed that day. For $160,140, you never have to grow up. You get to finger-paint, carve pumpkins, play hide-and-seek, catch lightning bugs, and never stop believing in Santa Claus. You have an excuse to keep reading the Adventures of Piglet and Pooh, watching Saturday morning cartoons, going to Disney movies, and wishing on stars. You get to frame rainbows, hearts, and flowers under refrigerator magnets and collect spray painted noodle wreaths for Christmas, hand prints set in clay for Mother’s Day, and cards with backward letters for Father’s Day. For $160,140, there is no greater bang for your buck. You get to be a hero just for retrieving a Frisbee off the garage roof, taking the training wheels off a bike, removing a splinter, filling a wading pool, coaxing a wad of gum out of bangs, and coaching a baseball team that never wins but always gets treated to ice cream regardless. You get a front row seat to history to witness the first step, first word, first bra, first date, and first time behind the wheel. You get to be immortal. You get another branch added to your family tree, and if you’re lucky, a long list of limbs in your obituary called grandchildren and great grandchildren. You get an education in psychology, nursing, criminal justice, communications, and human sexuality that no college can match. In the eyes of a child, you rank right up there under God. You have all the power to heal a boo-boo, scare away the monsters under the bed, patch a broken heart, police a slumber party, ground them forever, and love them without limits, so one day they will, like you, love without counting the cost.

Love
Dad

My parents rock.

Excerpts from A Short History of Nearly Everything (Bill Bryson):

The Principia’s production was not without drama. To Halley’s horror, just as work was nearing completion Newton and Hooke fell into dispute over the priority for the inverse square law and Newton refused to release the crucial third volume, without which the first two made little sense. Only with some frantic shuttle diplomacy and the most liberal applications of flattery did Halley manage finally to extract the concluding volume from the erratic professor.

Halley’s traumas were not yet quite over. The Royal Society had promised to publish the work, but now pulled out, citing financial embarrassment. The year before, the society had backed a costly flop called The History of Fishes, and suspected that the market for a book on mathematical principles would be less than clamorous. Halley, whose means were not great, paid for the book’s publication out of his own pocket. Newton, as was his custom, contributed nothing. To make matters worse, Halley at this time had just accepted a position as the society’s clerk, and he was informed that the society could no longer afford to provide him with a promised salary of £50 per annum. He was to be paid instead in copies of The History of Fishes.

—

The second half of the eighteenth century was a time when people of a scientific bent grew intensely interested in the physical properties of fundamental things – gases and electricity in particular – and began seeing what they could do with them, often with more enthusiasm than sense. [...] In France, a chemist named Pilatre de Rozier tested the flammability of an open flame, proving at a stroke that hydrogen is indeed explosively combustible and that eyebrows are not necessarily a permanent feature of one’s face.

Follow-up to Banana Cake #2

My banana cake (a new one, not the one I made last week) received rave reviews at work today. I will now become my colleague’s bestest friend ever if I make her blackberry and apple crumble with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side.

Buy my friendship? Nevah.

NB:

Apple and blackberry crumbles

35 minutes Heat the oven to 180C/fan160C/gas 4. Put 4 peeled, cored and quartered apples, 200g blackberries, the zest and juice of 1 lemon and 50g light muscovado sugar in a bowl and mix. Divide the mixture between 4 overproof cups and dot with some unsalted butter. Rub 50g unsalted butter into 150g flour until it looks like coarse sand. Stir in 50g light muscovado sugar, 25g rolled oats and 50g chopped hazelnuts. Sprinkle this mixture over the fruit. Bake for 15 - 20 minutes. Serve with clotted cream. Serves 4

By way of apology for the farce that is the previous post, this is one of the poems I used to love when I was in school, and which still makes me smile a very nostalgic smile.

Somewhere I have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which I cannot touch because they are too near.

Your slightest look will easily unclose me
though I have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, I and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

(I do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands.

e.e. cummings