No spikes for Spike

Out for a walk the other day, the three of us (two humans and a doggie) were walking past an ornamental garden area. Form the corner of my eye, I spotted some large flowers and did a double-take.

"My my," I thought, "that's a rather large thistle."
Of course it came out a little differently, leading Julie to make a certain observation.

Crossing the eyes and dotting the tease

Julie needs to wear glasses - so do I, come to that, but Julie needs to wear glasses all the time. Apart from when she sleeps or is bathing. That'd be silly.

In a sense, Julie has been lucky with getting her glasses made up, as technology has managed to stay barely a step of her needs. Almost each time she gets her eyes tested, Julie is told that she may have to have corrective surgery 'next time'. Fortunately, 'next time' appears to be taking a cue from Tomorrow in this instance, since 'next time' never really manages to reappear.

You see, to get the right level of sight correction, Julie's glasses have been getting thicker and thicker.

No, she does NOT look like that.

Obviously, there is only so far you can thicken lenses, and the threat has always been to have the surgery, but technological advances mean that the opticians can get a decent lens from a thinner piece of material.

Without the glasses, one eye does have a tendency to pull to one side, but it's nothing major - certainly not Marty Feldman territory. Or, as Julie puts it,

...it's true, I suppose...

Roxy means no 'arm

Finally, after what seems like forever, I have a job. It's not great pay, it's temporary and part time. But it's work - and it's better money than the benefits route.

Because we now have a dog in the house, there has always been the thought of trying to find something so that Roxy doesn't spend too long on her own. As I have mentioned before, she is a bit clingy, but spending over three years in a rescue centre will do that to you, I imagine. My job, beginning next week, is on the twilight shift, finishing at ten pm. As Julie will be home before I leave for work, there won't be any issues. This week, on the other hand, I am working afternoons, so there are a couple of hours where Roxy has the house to herself.

Where is he?

Four days into the week, and Roxy has behaved herself so far. Only one day where Julie came home to a puddle. However, being very much a family member, she doesn't like it when people go away for a while. That said, Roxy has got the idea that Julie will be back, and back at a certain time. Whatever she was doing before, when it comes near to time, Roxy will make sure she is near the door, or looking out of the window.

In my case, since I drive, every time a car pulls up, Roxy perks up. A pity that we live opposite a church hall that has events taking place every evening...

Of course, when I finally turn up, Roxy immediately demands attention, licking my face, holding herself close to me for a stroke - and then it's straight onto the sofa so the two of us can sit on either end, while she is in the middle, being the centre, as it were, of attention.

As you read this, it will have been yesterday evening that I got home and was mugg... er, greeted by Roxy before being allowed to greet my wife. On the sofa a short time later, I was stroking one of Roxy's forelegs. Roxy, in the meantime, was looking at Julie, who had dared to stop rubbing Roxy's belly.

After a while, Roxy relaxed and lay her head back on my arm, and it was such a cute picture that we had to capture the moment.

Altogether now - "Awwwwwww!"

There was just one problem. I wanted to move, but I didn't want to disturb her now that she was comfortable. Unfortunately, that decision was being taken out of my hands...

Over an hour after I extricated myself, my arm is still sore where Roxy's head was laid. I love ye, dog, but you're no lightweight.

Perverting a proverb

A friend of mine from the Magic-playing community was talking to me the other day about how he enjoys reading this blog (which made my day, believe me). He especially enjoyed, apparently, that a lot of what Julie says, and how she says it, mirrors his girlfriend's habits. It seems that she has a reputation for being a bit 'out there', and revels in it - to the point she will deliberately behave and speak oddly.

To illustrate this, Tom (my friend), recounted the tale of when he and Cass (his girlfriend) were playing a card game. He can't recall the game, not that it matters. It could have been Magic, Happy Families, Uno, or even just Gin Rummy.

Whatever the game, it was Tom's turn, and he drew a card. Unfortunately, it turned out to be something he most definitely did not want or need. Tom let out an exasperated noise and grimaced. Cass then assumed a comically lofty expression and berated him with this:

Obviously punning on the proverb 'don't look a gift horse in the mouth', Cass then enjoyed the sight of Tom laughing and spluttering.

For my part, I seem to be channeling a mix of Cass and Julie, because I was mixing both the original and Cass's version in my head and coming up with a mental image of a terrified and disturbed horse.

Logic gets cold feet

I hate food shopping on a weekend. I am writing this on a Sunday (just about), having had a very pleasant afternoon and evening playing Magic with some friends. However, before that, supplies needed to be replenished.

Unfortunately for our sanity, it seems that everyone else had had the same idea, with the result that Tesco was packed with seemingly entire families. Why is it that parents spend ages chatting to someone in the middle of the aisles and then become angry with their children, who - for some strange reason - have got themselves into trouble through sheer boredom?

We actually happened across one of our neighbours, and it was a mutual decision on the part of all concerned that we would nod, smile, and then do our level best to get the hell out of there ASAP.

As we passed by one section, we noticed that there were some items that had been reduced in price. That is, Tesco had stopped overcharging for them so much, in an effort to clear some space in their warehouses. One such item was a pack of foot warmers. Essentially a gel pack that warms through chemical means once the pack is opened, just like those available for hands, backs, and various other parts of the body.

Yes, but these are for the feet, yes? That means they need to have a different shape and a new pack. Oh, and a new price...

For 75p, though, I did have to admit that it might be worth a pop, just for the one try. Not for me, you understand - my feet tend to be fine. Julie's feet, on the other hand, frequently resemble blocks of ice. Being the thoughtful husband, I pointed these out, but there seemed to be a problem.

Something about my blank stare must have told Julie that I didn't feel all that up to speed on the conversation, so she generously explained that she had, in fact, been referring to her ankles.

...riiiight...

Surprise mutt-sex

Hmm. Out of all the trends we have seen on Julie's Gems, the one that appears to be forming at the moment is the most worrying. Not even the Platyposts concern me as much.

There is a meme going by the tagline of 'surprise buttsex'. It takes advantage (ahem) of previously innocuous photographs and then adds the caption of 'Surprise Buttsex'. Google it if you want, but be prepared for what you see. In the meantime, here's a prime example.

And now for the most awkward segue ever; let's talk about Roxy...

Being part Staffie, Roxy isn't the slightest of creatures, gorgeous as she is. She also fits in with the family very well, in that she has a stubborn streak wider than the mouth of the Amazon river. Combine that with your average doorway, and simple access to a room is suddenly a lot more difficult. Especially since neither me nor Julie are even remotely slim.

If I am cooking, Roxy likes to 'supervise' from the comfort of the kitchen doorway. Having spent so long in a rescue centre pen, she isn't too fond of uncarpeted surfaces. I can understand that. Unfortunately, she refuses to move from there until the last tiny chance of a dropped morsel has gone. Which tends to make it a problem for Julie when she decides to come and make herself a drink.

There are so many things wrong with that I have no idea where to begin... so I'll leave you with a final meme...

Surprise butt-text!

I was talking to my mum on the phone the other day, catching up on the health matters of various family members. It was entirely inappropriate, then, to hear my sister in the background suddenly hooting with laughter. Bear in mind that I didn't even know she was there up until that point, either.

It turned out that my sister had received a random text message from a friend. A very bored friend.

To be honest, if I got that text, this would have been a little more like my reaction:

Badgered

Ready for a quick blast of Cute?

Baby badgers; so young their eyes have yet to open.

Julie found this delightful image somewhere, and I insisted she shared it with me - by private message on Facebook, so it wouldn't get lost in every other post I see.
I had an ulterior motive, though. Lovely as these badgers were,* it was Julie's comment that cracked me up.

Nope.
Just to clarify; these are baby platypuses:

And these are baby badgers:

They're all cute, and they are all (roughly) mammalian. Other than that, nope. Not the same.

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* By the way; baby badgers might look cute, but adult badgers are vicious buggers and are roughly the size of a Staffordshire Bull Terrier - and with roughly the same temperament when pissed off. Don't mess with them.

Fleeced of thought

Fancy a quickie? Here you are, then.

Every now and then, Julie will wonder out loud something that she knows to be silly, but the necessary filters will not be in place. On  this occasion, we were in the car and passing a field of sheep. At that point in time, a fine drizzle was just beginning, although the clouds were promising rather a lot more.

My reply, as such it was, was a stunned silence.

In the meantime, I shall leave you with a picture of that lovable ovine, Shaun the Sheep.

Oh, BALLS.

These balls, specifically.

Tits and balls, oh my!
They're blue tits, but that doesn't help much, does it?
At least they aren't great tits...

In my mum's garden, there are plenty of places for the local birdlife to get their fill - as long as the bloody pigeons and squirrels don't hog it all/crap all over it. But one of the best things we've found are the seed-packed spheres of suet - more commonly known as fat balls.

Yeah. You can see where we're going with this, can't you...

Obviously, it's going to take a total innocent not to make any kind of mental connection with, and let's not beat around the bush here, testicles. Bollocks, gonads, love spuds, the two veg to the penis's meat. Whatever you want to call the male reproductive organs, if you name a product of ANY kind 'fat balls', all kinds of people are going to be sniggering. To be perfectly honest, the manufacturers don't help either...

Ok, settle down at the back there...

As it happens, I recently had a request for me to buy some fat balls for the feeders in my mum's garden. In fact, the poorly-worded  text message I received from my sister ran, "Oh btw, Mum needs fat balls."
My reply? "No comment."

Today, as chance would have it, me and Julie were in a garden centre (cooing over the pets and discovering they even had a couple of hedgehogs!*), so we took the opportunity to buy some spherical bird treats.
After looking at all the pets, gifts and gardening gear, we left with nothing else but avian snacks. I admit to feeling a little sulky that we couldn't afford a 'hog (£150 - before care etc). Julie tried to put a positive spin on things though.

Honestly, I'm not sure one was worse than the other...

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* A little note on purchasing hedgehogs. Only buy/keep African pigmy hedgehogs, as all the other breeds are not suitable for keeping as pets.

DN-eh?

Please allow me to introduce ZME science.

I have been following ZME Science for a few years now. While it isn't as big as some other blogs, it is most certainly enthusiastic and cheerfully tackles many topics that stretch the definition of 'science', such as archaeology, which is history with a whole mess of science thrown in for good measure.

A relatively recent addition to ZME is a section for questions and answers. Anyone can ask a question, and anyone can also provide responses to or rate questions. Even more recently, they have also started up a contest on their Q&A page, with a rather wonderfully science-themed prize; the chance to find out your genetic lineage via a DNA test. You could find out that your father's great-great-great grandfather originated in Tibet, while your mother had some seriously Scottish ancestry.

Well, I don't know about you, but I'm definitely going to enter. If you want to, visit this particular blog post to find out more...

Mind you, Julie wasn't too keen on the idea.

I'm not sure, but that may have been a very subtle and unconscious play on words, involving 'box' and the fact that 'reincarnated' sounds sort of, possibly maybe, maybe not similar to the word 'carton'. Perhaps.

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What - you're still here? Don't be daft - get over to ZME Science and get your entry to this contest in right now! The prize is available globally, according to my contact, and the closing date is July 31st 2013

Hayling Island Week; Pulling power

Hello and welcome back to a week full of Gems born on the south coast resort of Hayling Island.

After a cup of tea and a stroll through the empty fairground, Julie and myself popped into the tourist information office. The woman there was charmingly candid about the island's size and facilities (ie, there aren't many), but was cheerfully chatty and helpful about what there was around there.

Ten minutes later and armed with a map of the island, we headed west.

As you can see from the map, there is a nature reserve on the north side of the western branch of the island. However, since time was pressing on, we elected to pass that by for now and get a bite to eat at the pub next to the ferry, where I had the oddest lasagne I have ever eaten. For some reason, they were using a sort of gravy as the main sauce... Whatever. I'm just glad I didn't have the burger.

After eating, we went for a walk. However, we had forgotten about the nature reserve, having been distracted by a wonderful shingle beach and a lovely blue sea. That and all the dogs that people were walking.*

On a recent visit to my mother, we had gone for a drive around Derbyshire (absolutely beautiful countryside), and had each picked up a book about British wildlife, plants and animals both. I was now carrying around my copy, trying to identify various plants that I deemed to be interesting. This led to an accusation from Julie that I was turning into my father; I couldn't make up my mind whether to deny this or accept it.

One of the plants we looked at looked, from a distance, similar to gorse, which is a shrub I find to be very beautiful (although a bit of a bugger if the path you're walking on happens to be lined with plentiful and encroaching gorse bushes - complete with thorns. Ahh, nostalgia...). Closer up, I was very surprised to realise that the bushes were in fact lupins. Up to that point, I had always been under the impression that lupins formed single stems. Was I ever wrong...

Julie gets a close-up...

It's a glorious sight in bloom, isn't it? I love to have wild flowers in our garden (poppies, foxgloves and a few self-seeded others), and I really, really wanted to have some of this new find growing in one corner or another. However, I'm also fully aware that the law tends to frown on people ripping up parts of the landscape for their own selfish desires. I'm not saying I haven't gently eased a plant or two, or some seeds from their original setting. However, it's actually quite hard to be surreptitious about such an activity when the plant in question is rather larger than yourself and sited on a busy, public stretch of beach in the middle of the day.

Julie knew what I wanted and had a rather less subtle approach.

You know what? I had absolutely nothing to say to that...



*WANT DOGGIE!

A half-half laugh

Some time ago, we were browsing the internet, looking for things to fuel our joint obsession. No, not naughty cigarettes, I'm referring (not reefer-ing) to our shared interest in hedgehogs.

Spike, Julie and their mascot, Reynard.

Originally simply my own mania, once Julie came to the Spiny Side, she quite happily fell in with my ways. We now have a glass-fronted cabinet quite literally crammed with various hedgehog figures - plus an echidna or two - a large amount of plush 'hog toys, and various other related knick-knacks. Reynard even has his own Facebook page, although he hasn't updated it since he got married and went on honeymoo.... what the hell am I even saying? It's a puppet!

Sheesh...

See? I said it was an obsession.

Any way, on a little stroll through the internet, we happened to chance upon a site that sold items of clothing with, among many other things, hedgehog-related images and phrases. We were particularly taken with a cap.

Yes, I know it's 'shopped. They make them to order.

Since I see myself as having many characteristics in common with hedgehogs (small, round and prickly), I thought this would be great for me. And as it happens, they also make one for the ladies. Yes, 'Half woman, half hedgehog'. If you fancy one, you can visit the [Australian] site HERE.

I suggested that we could sport matching titfers;* Julie, however, seemed to want a different cap made...

Famously so. I keep meaning to visit their shows; they're meant to be highly entertaining.

Visit the Ladyboys' site here.

* 'Titfer' = 'Tit for tat' = hat. Cockney rhyming slang, don'tyeknow.

The extreme egg fiasco

We have a problem. We like food. Unfortunately, we're not too good at controlling what we eat, nor the quantities thereof. Oh, and by the way, that statement doesn't just apply to my wife and me, but Western civilisation in general. We have come to consume too much of the wrong things and too much in general.

I'm currently trying to work with a dietician. Julie, on the other hand, tried that and various diets a long time ago. In the end, we agreed surgery was the only option. Julie had a gastric bypass, a version known as the Roux-en-y procedure.

This, without a word of exaggeration, has changed her life completely. It's entirely probable that it saved her life. Compulsive eating is a psychological problem, one that our primitive bodies are ill-equipped to cope with.

For those who can't stomach (sorry) looking at graphic details of operations, the notion is a simple one. Basically, the stomach is cut in half and the appropriate tubing is connected up to a much smaller gastric pouch.
Initially, the diet is severely limited, but with time, the patient can once again eat much of what they did before - just in drastically smaller portions. Even then, the stomach is still an elastic organ. It can stretch, and does. However, even taking that into account, one would still never be able to eat the massive portions as before.

It's a difficult situation, not just for the patient. A lot of human social interaction is based around the consumption of food and drink, and most pubs, cafes and restaurants don't really understand the concept of needing a tiny portion. Indeed, many get rather shirty when you ask for a child's portion when you have clearly left childhood far too long ago.

So how small does the stomach become after the operation?
About the size of a hen's egg.

Seriously.

Obviously, you're never going to be able to take in what you could, so if you have this op, then you're going to have to take a daily dose of vitamin & minerals in tablet form..
As I mentioned, the stomach may regain some magnitude, but only in a small way. Maybe twice the size of an egg, maybe a bit more.

It's not an exact thing, because everyone is different. Some keep their diet to minimal levels, some find they can't eat certain foods any more; some can't handle sweet stuff, others have trouble with greasy food - oh and it really doesn't take much alcohol either.

So, when Julie and me were in a cafe having a bite to eat, I was ploughing through a nice panini. My wife, however, was gingerly picking at hers. Oh, she was enjoying it, but necessity meant that she had to take it carefully, or she would end up with a side-effect known as 'dumping' - although this is more usually encountered in association with sugary foods.

With this in mind, we began to discuss how much her stomach will have changed in the few years since her operation.

...ummm...
...ok...

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Just in case you didn't know, the World Book Night Prize draw is now closed. We will be filming a clip today for the drawing of the winners and posting the results tomorrow.

A vagrant bum (or, Arsing about)

Sometimes, there just isn't a lot I can say to introduce a Gem.
Sometimes, all I need to do is present it and then follow it with a  brief message of stunned admiration - or something similar.
Sometimes, I'll desperately pad it out with something utterly unrelated.

Today, all I shall do is point out the obvious, that there had been something that had been preying in Julie's mind for a while...

Well, yes. I think we'll 'end' it there.

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Don't forget folks, you have one more week to enter our free draw to win one of these books (and a Julie's Gem bookmark) - and one person also gets a whole load of other goodies too.
Email us at juliesgems@gmx.com
Or drop us a line via our Facebook page.

Moooooo!

The body is a wonderful thing. Rather like the age-old comparison with the apparent grace of the swan, there is so much activity beneath the surface that it would be fair to describe the human body as a battleground, one that will only be calmed when one side it vanquished for good. Sorry, but you know which side that is. As the phrase goes,

"Life is a sexually-transmitted disease with a 100% fatality rate."

Cheering, eh?

Let's steer things back to lighter matters.
Everybody likes a fart gag, don't they? Gaseous emissions have been a staple of comedy since time immemorial, but it's as much about timing as anything else.
Imagine a hall full of students taking their final exams. Despite hours or revision and weeks of preparation, it's turning out to be far harder than any of them had imagined. Half an hour in, and already, despair is setting in. The tension in the air is palpable. Then, from between clenched buttocks comes a noise, a sound like a cornet being blown to a tone of E flat. There's silence at first, then a muffled snigger. Soon, the whole room is full of students trying not to make any noise and failing dismally. However, the mood has been lifted and who knows - some of the students may have relaxed enough to improve their score.

"What you see might not be real" is a sculpture by Chinese artist Chen
Wenling. It's an unsubtle dig at the financial crisis. The bull represents
Wall Street, and the human is Bernard Madoff. He was convicted
and jailed for 150 years for being a Ponzi schemer.

Alternatively, let's pretend you are watching a sitcom. The main character works in an office. He's been stuck in a meeting for what has felt like the longest hour of his life. He has spent most of the meeting regretting the full English breakfast. It was tasty enough at the time, but it's given him some terrible gas. Finally, the meeting is over. He grabs his papers and dashes out for his own office. When he gets there, he bangs the door shut behind him, but doesn't notice that it has bounced open again. He leans his knuckles on his desk and carefully relaxes certain muscles. The resulting fart is loud, sonorous and meaty enough to be put into pies. Them, just as he sighs with relief, he hears the boss behind him, "I hope you feel much better for that." Oh bugger.

See? It can be humorous. Obviously, it can be taken too far. An entire programme of fart gags is a bit much (although Bottom seemed to get away with something very close to it for several series).

On the other hand, when you feel the need and you happen to be in public, it's really not done to simply let rip. In that case, one will surreptitiously glance about, making sure that the coast is clear. Only then will we allow ourselves to let something out. Hopefully, it will be as discreet as your attempt to clear the area.
Yeah, right.
Poor Julie, on this occasion, managed to create a passable impression of a foghorn. I was gasping for breath, I was laughing that hard, and Julie was laughing just as hard. Then, just as I felt I was beginning to calm down, Julie decided to justify herself.

And I was off again...

Cleanliness is next to Godliness, apparently.

On a bright day recently, Julie and me decided to go for a little drive. Sunglasses on, Madness on the CD player, we headed off westwards along the A27. This route takes you right into the heart of the [newly declared] South Downs National Park, which features lots of old river valleys, broad and shallow. It's a nice place to be, and very popular with walkers, hikers and other people that don't mind getting rained on.

Since it's chalk downland, people in the past felt the need to make their mark on the landscape. Like the White Horse at Uffington, these marks are large and tended to on a regular basis. The Sussex Downs has two such things in our area. A solid horse on a hill near Alfriston, and the rather more famous Long Man of Wilmington.

As we were driving past the Long Man on this occasion, I noticed what I can only describe as a flock of paragliders circling over the hillside.
For those not in the know, paragliding is rather similar to hang gliding, except that when you throw yourself off the hill/cliff/whatever, your means of support is a lot less sturdy. It doesn't help that you have to have someone make the run-up with you, holding the parachute - in pretty much the same way someone would help you to get a kite up in the air.

For all my snide comments above, I have to admit that they did look especially graceful when they were up in the air and drifting about.
Julie, on the other hand, is nowhere near as enamoured with the paragliding idea.

...yes, lovey.

The epitome of 'sickly sweet'

Humans are weird.
I know about the whaling industry. I know that certain cultures enjoy eating whale meat. I also know that the blubber is used for cosmetic purposes. What I  didn't  realise was that there was another whale product used in the cosmetic industry. Now, if you read the title above, then you've probably got an uneasy feeling what I might be referring to.
Yep. Whale vomit. Apparently, it's quite the thing for providing a nice, gentle scent to a perfume.

Great gobs of whale sick. Lovely.

Feeling nauseous yet?
Here's something else to tickle your gag reflex. Not only is cetacean puke (allegedly) nice to spray on your lady's face, it's also pretty damn expensive too. With a nickname of 'floating gold', you can imagine how much people are willing to pay for such a seemingly wondrous thing.
How fortunate, then, that Ken Wilman's dog has a good nose.

Having unearthed what they both thought to be a rock, they soon realised was something completely different. Here's the story.
When we were reading about this, me and Julie were both bemused at the lengths people will go to for vanity's sake. And then we found out that Mr Wilman had been offered 50,000 Euros for his find by a French company.
Really? How much??
And of course, it set Julie to thinking...

Blech... Please never bring that up... I mean, raise the topic again.

The source of all Gems?

Julia, a friend of mine who has been source of some Gems herself (usually indirectly, I will confess), posted something of Facebook today. This something was a series of diagrams showing hitherto unknown organs of the body, all responsible for some rather specific functions. For example, there is the 'cinema bladder', the one that is responsible for not being able to hold any fluid beyond a sip or two.

There are others, but the one that really caught my eye was the 'posterior nervous system'.

Obviously, this is going to be abnormally large in the human sub-species known as 'politicians', but surely this should go some way to explaining how Julie can come up with bon mots such as 'I would have kissed you, but your face was in the way.'

To see the rest of these new discoveries (originally courtesy of College Humor), visit here. Thanks again, Julia!

The worms that turned... into something else.

Our family, as a rule, are very friendly towards wildlife. My mum has a large garden, and birdwatching is a hobby. It makes sense, then, to attract birds to the garden. At the far end, there is a pond, designed to attract various animals, insects and birds especially. One of my father's happiest and proudest moments was when a passing heron decided to drop in and inflict a massive casualty rate on the amphibian population. As I was quick to remind him though, just because the pond works for attracting wildlife, the bamboo he had planted nearby was very unlikely to tempt any pandas...

The more common means of getting birds to drop in is by a number of feeders, offering different types of foods. Seeds, nuts and fat balls.
Yes, let's get the sniggering out of the way shall we? This is what I'm talking about.

Balls of nuts, seeds, and or bits of various invertebrates, moulded into a spherical shape and held together by  fat.
Whenever we visit, we always try and take along some supplies, just so the birds don't go hungry. We're kind like that. However, asking for these supplies does tend to make for awkward conversations. Asking if someone 'wants fat balls' in a public place is guaranteed to earn you a nervous look or two.
Especially if you add the word 'Mum' to that sentence.
It's not all balls, though. There are also fat blocks, which are most usually filled with mealworms or insects. There are others, though. Some have fruit, some have seeds, but those aren't wanted.

Thus is was that Julie was out browsing some shops, and happened to go into one place that had a section for bird food. Once the obligatory muttered conversation about 'fat balls' was out of the way, Julie tried to find out just which of the different blocks on offer were the ones wanted by Mum.
And then the confusion set in.

I very nearly asked if they actually had blocks with ringworm, but then I decided I wasn't all that interested in finding out and rather hurriedly dropped the whole conversation...