I've heard some stupid questions in my time. Last year my wife woke up to find one eye inflamed, closed over, swollen up - she looked like the Elephant Man. We went to get medical attention and when she talked to the receptionist - with one eye inflamed, closed over, swollen up she was asked "Ok. Is it affecting your vision?". Erm. Yes. Next question.
And on the subject of very silly questions, well, maybe the answers are the silly things, I was listening to someone on the radio who had failed their driving theory test 3 times who complained they thought they shouldn't have to do it before they could drive.
I'm sorry, but you really need to be passing that before they let you behind the wheel of a car. It's basics. I like to make things up for comic effect but this stuff is comedy gold. So when you are struggling to answer the following genuine theory test questions, it's time to get a bus pass and forget the car for the minute.
Why are vehicles fitted with rear fog lights? (Mark one answer).
-To be seen when driving at high speed
-To use if broken down in a dangerous position
-To make them more visible in thick fog
-To warn drivers following closely to drop back
I'm guessing the word "fog" may be a clue
At the scene of an accident you have to treat someone for shock. What should you do? (Mark one answer)
-Sing to them
-Try and cool them down
-Keep reassuring them until qualified help arrives
-Give them liquids to drink
Could I sing reassuring messages to them, would that not be allowed. What if I'm a professional singer? I'm too busy cooling them down with lilt anyway.
You are driving through an automated rail crossing with barriers when the lights begin to flash. What should you do? (Mark one answer)
-Continue across at your current speed
-Stop and reverse
-Speed up
-Get out and look for trains
Yes, get out and LOOK FOR TRAINS, and while you're at it why not eat some razorblades, cover yourself in petrol and light some matches.
If you need help answering any of these, please drop me a line. Don't attempt to travel to see me to discuss, else I fear you - along with anyone in your path - may end up dead.
Sunday, 28 April 2013
Wednesday, 24 April 2013
Nooses for weasels?
Sorry for the lack of blogging. I think it’s because I’ve been too busy realising I’m thick.
Seriously, I really am quite thick. Imagine if we were all sausages. I’d be one of those thick ones. Imagine hearing someone with a lisp-like speech impediment saying the word “sick”, and they could be mistaken for describing me. If I was a TV host, I’d be Vernon Kay. I’m so thick I’ll be lucky to end this
You might wonder how I’ve got to this conclusion, when only a few years back I was claiming I was a genius.
It’s just that I’ve realised some of the basic things in life, I haven’t really got right. I admitted one of them to people the other day – that until the age of 30 I didn’t know why there were different colours of toilet rolls. Honestly, I didn’t. Up until then I bought various colours because I thought “ooh, I’ll have pink ones this week” or “I feel a bit down, perhaps blue toilet rolls will reflect that mood?” I honestly didn’t know that you bought them to match in with the colour of your bathroom. Same with mouthwash. Saying that, if I had a bright green bathroom, I’d probably be mental anyway.
On a more advanced scale, I remember the many times I’ve opened loyalty card statements from supermarkets and been delighted to see that the vouchers for money off coupons are on products that I not only like, but that I really probably would buy. I had it down as a co-incidence, not thinking that, just maybe, they probably looked at what I bought before. No. It must have been magic.
There’s lots of other things I could name, like not realising that the little hooks on the insides of car roofs were for coats (What were they for Tim? To secure nooses for weasels?) – I’m surprised I haven’t fallen for a scam online by now.
That would never happen anyway as my friend, the Nigerian grandfather I never knew I had and recently contacted me on email about my inheritance, will testify. When he gets back to me to confirm those bank details are ok of course.
Seriously, I really am quite thick. Imagine if we were all sausages. I’d be one of those thick ones. Imagine hearing someone with a lisp-like speech impediment saying the word “sick”, and they could be mistaken for describing me. If I was a TV host, I’d be Vernon Kay. I’m so thick I’ll be lucky to end this
You might wonder how I’ve got to this conclusion, when only a few years back I was claiming I was a genius.
It’s just that I’ve realised some of the basic things in life, I haven’t really got right. I admitted one of them to people the other day – that until the age of 30 I didn’t know why there were different colours of toilet rolls. Honestly, I didn’t. Up until then I bought various colours because I thought “ooh, I’ll have pink ones this week” or “I feel a bit down, perhaps blue toilet rolls will reflect that mood?” I honestly didn’t know that you bought them to match in with the colour of your bathroom. Same with mouthwash. Saying that, if I had a bright green bathroom, I’d probably be mental anyway.
On a more advanced scale, I remember the many times I’ve opened loyalty card statements from supermarkets and been delighted to see that the vouchers for money off coupons are on products that I not only like, but that I really probably would buy. I had it down as a co-incidence, not thinking that, just maybe, they probably looked at what I bought before. No. It must have been magic.
There’s lots of other things I could name, like not realising that the little hooks on the insides of car roofs were for coats (What were they for Tim? To secure nooses for weasels?) – I’m surprised I haven’t fallen for a scam online by now.
That would never happen anyway as my friend, the Nigerian grandfather I never knew I had and recently contacted me on email about my inheritance, will testify. When he gets back to me to confirm those bank details are ok of course.
Wednesday, 3 April 2013
THIS IS A POLITE BLOG
The world is a horrible place at times, war, famine, ITV2, but I find immense solace in the simple use of words on signs. Well, the misuse of them at times.
Take today. I was at an exhibition and we were asked to join in by giving our feedback. I knew this from the sign that said "OFFICAL FEEDBACK ZONE". So my first bit of feedback was "You've spelt OFFICIAL wrong".
A particular delight are those signs, usually at places of work, that begin "THIS IS A POLITE NOTICE" before going on to lecture you about something.
First of all, the phrase "THIS IS A POLITE NOTICE" rarely makes me think that is polite. If you're having to tell me it's polite, frankly, I don't believe you. In fact, just be polite in the first place. It's a bit like startint a conversation with "I'm not racist...but" or someone saying to you "I'm going to show you the funniest thing ever" before showing you an episode of Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps.
If you have to qualify it before you say it, think about what you are about to say.
Oh, and you don't need to say it's a NOTICE. I kind of got that from the way it was some words on laminated card on the wall. I didn't look at it and think "Ooh, what's that? Is it a kumquat?". Unlikely to be the case in the gents toilets.
Anyway. In the office I currently work in we have printers with little screens on that use lovely words. When I've finished printing it says "Goodbye...Print safely."
I can't help but reading that in a threatening manner. I think it's the dots, like it's saying "Be careful eh? You never know what could happen do you.... Watch it sunshine." It's like a Lexmark Reggie Kray. Also, I only really know how to "Print safely", it's rare I try printing standing in a bucket of water with a dangerously wired toaster in my hands or do A3 copies whilst poking a crocodile in the nipples.
Anyway, my final piece of wording was in a toilet cubicle (stick with me). On the back of the door was an advert that said (exactly as written here) "Printed advertising works. You're reading this aren't you." Imagine my delight to then see comments added (in different writing each time) that said:
- Shouldn't that second fullstop be a question mark?
- I feel there should also be a comma after this
- Yes, the second line is interrogative, it should finish with a question mark
- Good revisions everyone
And slap bang in the middle, just to finish it off, someone had then added a much more typical piece of toilet graffitti that said.
-UP THE BUM? MEET ME HERE FRIDAYS.
Thank the lord it was only Thursday.
Take today. I was at an exhibition and we were asked to join in by giving our feedback. I knew this from the sign that said "OFFICAL FEEDBACK ZONE". So my first bit of feedback was "You've spelt OFFICIAL wrong".A particular delight are those signs, usually at places of work, that begin "THIS IS A POLITE NOTICE" before going on to lecture you about something.
First of all, the phrase "THIS IS A POLITE NOTICE" rarely makes me think that is polite. If you're having to tell me it's polite, frankly, I don't believe you. In fact, just be polite in the first place. It's a bit like startint a conversation with "I'm not racist...but" or someone saying to you "I'm going to show you the funniest thing ever" before showing you an episode of Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps.
If you have to qualify it before you say it, think about what you are about to say.
Oh, and you don't need to say it's a NOTICE. I kind of got that from the way it was some words on laminated card on the wall. I didn't look at it and think "Ooh, what's that? Is it a kumquat?". Unlikely to be the case in the gents toilets.
Anyway. In the office I currently work in we have printers with little screens on that use lovely words. When I've finished printing it says "Goodbye...Print safely."
I can't help but reading that in a threatening manner. I think it's the dots, like it's saying "Be careful eh? You never know what could happen do you.... Watch it sunshine." It's like a Lexmark Reggie Kray. Also, I only really know how to "Print safely", it's rare I try printing standing in a bucket of water with a dangerously wired toaster in my hands or do A3 copies whilst poking a crocodile in the nipples.
Anyway, my final piece of wording was in a toilet cubicle (stick with me). On the back of the door was an advert that said (exactly as written here) "Printed advertising works. You're reading this aren't you." Imagine my delight to then see comments added (in different writing each time) that said:
- Shouldn't that second fullstop be a question mark?
- I feel there should also be a comma after this
- Yes, the second line is interrogative, it should finish with a question mark
- Good revisions everyone
And slap bang in the middle, just to finish it off, someone had then added a much more typical piece of toilet graffitti that said.
-UP THE BUM? MEET ME HERE FRIDAYS.
Thank the lord it was only Thursday.
Thursday, 21 March 2013
Wonky wrist-itis and talking to God on the big white telephone
Yes, another blog that's taken quite a while to write. The gaps between blogs seem to get bigger all the time. It's not that I don't enjoy writing them, or that exciting stuff happens - I mean, that thing, with the tiger, in Belize, that was ace.
No, it's just that I'm writing all over the place at the moment. I'm blogging about films and TV and getting total strangers either telling me I'm an idiot or that I make them 'laugh out loud at work' - which is nice (unless the latter is the CEO of my company, and he's reading the magazine I edit). I'm writing my other blog, the one no-one knows about, not even me (am I making that up? you'll find out? Or will you?). Then I'm writing this other thing, which is kind of why I'm here now - digging up old jokes and repurposing them for another use.
And the other reason is that I've been sick over the past month or so. First up, my hand stopped working. Now, that's worrying for most people, but for writers, mime artists and lonely teenage boys, it's downright catastrophic. I had a bout of, what is technically called, erm, wonky-wristitis. That meant my left hand couldn't grip properly and I had to sleep with it elevated (i.e. on a pillow, not in a facist salute all night).
Checked out by a specialist I had a variety of treatments including some light physio, a brace to keep it in position, oh and a RUDDY MASSIVE NEEDLE INTO MY WRIST JOINT. To be honest, that didn't hurt at all, because I had local anaesthetic. So if you have to have it, you'll be fine.
I am, of course, lying. It was bloody awful. Worse than toenail surgey. Worse than turning on TV and finding all channels have Myleene Klass on. I actually had to laugh out loud, really loud, for 15 seconds as the sadistic kind man pumped cortisone into my joint.
Well, the good news is that it seems to have fixed it. Which was great, as until then I had a wrist limper than John Inman, in a special zero gravity version of Are You Being Served?
Then, a few weeks later, I came down with food poisoning. Now, don't believe the hype, it's not the glamourous condition that people have hyped up it up to be. One dodgy curry starter seems to have been the source. A mixed kebab. Well, it was mixed when it came back up.
2 days until I could eat properly. A week until I could function like a human again. Alright, maybe my fault for being a fatty, but seriously - does it have to be that nasty? Can't the human body have an 'undo' facility that doesn't last the best part of a week?
So that's my excuse. Wonky wrist and wonky, well, I won't go into more detail than that. That and all the writing. Still, nice to pop by and find that people are still happening by this page and even leaving comments on old posts.
And I thought I was the sick one...
No, it's just that I'm writing all over the place at the moment. I'm blogging about films and TV and getting total strangers either telling me I'm an idiot or that I make them 'laugh out loud at work' - which is nice (unless the latter is the CEO of my company, and he's reading the magazine I edit). I'm writing my other blog, the one no-one knows about, not even me (am I making that up? you'll find out? Or will you?). Then I'm writing this other thing, which is kind of why I'm here now - digging up old jokes and repurposing them for another use.
And the other reason is that I've been sick over the past month or so. First up, my hand stopped working. Now, that's worrying for most people, but for writers, mime artists and lonely teenage boys, it's downright catastrophic. I had a bout of, what is technically called, erm, wonky-wristitis. That meant my left hand couldn't grip properly and I had to sleep with it elevated (i.e. on a pillow, not in a facist salute all night).
Checked out by a specialist I had a variety of treatments including some light physio, a brace to keep it in position, oh and a RUDDY MASSIVE NEEDLE INTO MY WRIST JOINT. To be honest, that didn't hurt at all, because I had local anaesthetic. So if you have to have it, you'll be fine.
I am, of course, lying. It was bloody awful. Worse than toenail surgey. Worse than turning on TV and finding all channels have Myleene Klass on. I actually had to laugh out loud, really loud, for 15 seconds as the sadistic kind man pumped cortisone into my joint.
Well, the good news is that it seems to have fixed it. Which was great, as until then I had a wrist limper than John Inman, in a special zero gravity version of Are You Being Served?
Then, a few weeks later, I came down with food poisoning. Now, don't believe the hype, it's not the glamourous condition that people have hyped up it up to be. One dodgy curry starter seems to have been the source. A mixed kebab. Well, it was mixed when it came back up.
2 days until I could eat properly. A week until I could function like a human again. Alright, maybe my fault for being a fatty, but seriously - does it have to be that nasty? Can't the human body have an 'undo' facility that doesn't last the best part of a week?
So that's my excuse. Wonky wrist and wonky, well, I won't go into more detail than that. That and all the writing. Still, nice to pop by and find that people are still happening by this page and even leaving comments on old posts.
And I thought I was the sick one...
Thursday, 14 March 2013
Co-incidence? You decide...
When I recently read that we are now only 3 steps away from everyone in terms of being connected I must admit that I was sceptical. A handy bit of research to make a good bit of PR I thought.
But then I considered some of the stuff that has happened to me.
I got a new job, quite by chance, with a mobile phone company. The chap I took over from here had just got engaged and there were lots of congratulations messages on his facebook page. One was from his cousin. She looked vaguely familiar.
I did a bit of checking and it turns out that she was the best friend of my best friend's girlfriend at Uni, someone, I had been drinking with many times and last saw in 1997.
At that moment it was like the world stopped spinning, zoomed in on me for a minute, back out to the edge of the solar system and then started up again. I felt simulataneously the smallest yet biggest person in the whole universe, like it was all put together for a reality programme like in The Truman Show.
You might not think that was a great co-incidence. But I've moved 450 miles around this country, had various jobs, made crucial decisions at certain times in my life, yet there was my life falling back into the path of my past without my knowing it. It's all some sort of wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey thing if you ask me.
How does that work? How do these connections pop up time and again? I rented a room off a chap who went on holiday to Australia, he met a girl, completely at random, in a bar in Melbourne. When they both returned to the UK I met her and it turned out that at her place of work she sat next to a girl I had worked with for about a year some 350 miles away.
That same girl I worked with, years before, had a part time job as one of two barmaids at a college bar in Cheltenham. The same college bar that i always went to when visiting my girlfriend of the time in Cheltenham - she must have served me a drink.
Utterly. Completely. Mad. Brain. Hurt. Need. Lie. Down.
I did some research and, apparantly, this is why 'miracles' are perceived to happen -because there are so many variables, and bits of information being processed (millions a day) that eventually something co-incidental is much more likely to happen than not.
Frankly, it just makes my head hurt. And if you managed to read all of this without it hurting you too, then you're clearly a lot cleverer than me.
But then I considered some of the stuff that has happened to me.
I got a new job, quite by chance, with a mobile phone company. The chap I took over from here had just got engaged and there were lots of congratulations messages on his facebook page. One was from his cousin. She looked vaguely familiar.
I did a bit of checking and it turns out that she was the best friend of my best friend's girlfriend at Uni, someone, I had been drinking with many times and last saw in 1997.
At that moment it was like the world stopped spinning, zoomed in on me for a minute, back out to the edge of the solar system and then started up again. I felt simulataneously the smallest yet biggest person in the whole universe, like it was all put together for a reality programme like in The Truman Show.
You might not think that was a great co-incidence. But I've moved 450 miles around this country, had various jobs, made crucial decisions at certain times in my life, yet there was my life falling back into the path of my past without my knowing it. It's all some sort of wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey thing if you ask me.
How does that work? How do these connections pop up time and again? I rented a room off a chap who went on holiday to Australia, he met a girl, completely at random, in a bar in Melbourne. When they both returned to the UK I met her and it turned out that at her place of work she sat next to a girl I had worked with for about a year some 350 miles away.
That same girl I worked with, years before, had a part time job as one of two barmaids at a college bar in Cheltenham. The same college bar that i always went to when visiting my girlfriend of the time in Cheltenham - she must have served me a drink.
Utterly. Completely. Mad. Brain. Hurt. Need. Lie. Down.
I did some research and, apparantly, this is why 'miracles' are perceived to happen -because there are so many variables, and bits of information being processed (millions a day) that eventually something co-incidental is much more likely to happen than not.
Frankly, it just makes my head hurt. And if you managed to read all of this without it hurting you too, then you're clearly a lot cleverer than me.
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