My spidey-nonsense is tingling...

I'm fairly appreciative of those eight-legged fly-killers we get in Britain. Not the nightmare fuel you find in other countries, eating birds, snakes, or small cars.

Oh look - it's Spider-Nope!

Feel free to much on the stuff that eats or craps on our own food, but leave us and ours alone thanks.

Julie, however, isn't too fussed on anything that doesn't go round on two legs. Come to think of it, not many of those, either... Out of deference to my sensibilities, Julie has managed to overcome her dislike enough to capture and eject most spiders she finds. As long as they aren't too big and/or fast.

The thing is, spiders tend to be fairly nondescript in Britain, and as such one looks pretty much like another. This means that this can lead to a case of mistaken identity.

There's kinky. It reminds me of this FABulous fella.

"Y-M-C-A!"

Deviating doggies

Hmm... As titles go, that is possibly one of the dodgier ones I could have gone with. It doesn't help that, in setting the scene, I announce that  Roxy was in bed with me and Julie...

Does it help if I say that Roxy was on TOP of the duvet, while we were underneath? I hope so.

In any event, you all know by now that Roxy is a cuddlesome dog, mostly as a result of having spent the last three years of her life in a rescue centre pen.

D'awwww.

Yeah... As you can see, Roxy is not above sneakily cuddling up to you while you sleep. Impressive, considering that she is by no means a small dog.

Anyway, last Sunday, prior to a nice day out on the South Downs, we decided to have a lazy morning cuddle in bed. Of course, Roxy HAD to be involved.

Essentially, idle chit-chat and belly rubs were the order of the day (well, morning), and I'll leave it up to you to work out who took part in what.

After some time, Julie raised the idea of dressing up Roxy, something doesn't appeal to me at the best of times.

Obviously.

"Just for that, no pasta for you."
(and yes, I know that is Grumpy Cat, and not a Spaniel)

A fitting remark

Some time ago, Julie and myself went to an outdoor ABBA tribute evening. The programme involved a live tribute act (so much better than a dead one, don't you think?), followed by a large-screen showing of Mama Mia, the film musical.

As far as the live act went, they were OK.  They knew their stuff, and were fairly good at it - but they lacked that spark. It didn't help that the ground was a tad uncomfortable. The event took place in the grounds of Devonshire Park tennis centre in Eastbourne, home to the Aegis Championship (the main tennis event in Britain before Wimbledon). As such, we were sat on the grass. The short, closely cropped to the hard earth grass.

Yes, we had taken a blanket, but we had the distinct impression we should have taken an armchair each...

At any rate, we decided to give the film a miss. Sort of - we went home, loaded up on snacks and drinks and watched it from the comfort of our sofa. Julie did enjoy a good singalong...

One of the things we also managed to avoid was any further acts of abomination upon the eyes. In keeping with the spirit of the event, a lot of people had dressed up in flairs, brightly-coloured tank-tops (the British version; sleeveless sweaters), fake afros - you name it. Any tacky 70s style, people were attempting it - even if their bodies were no longer fit for them. If they ever had been...

Julie excused herself from playing dress-up in this manner.

Washed-out logic.

Living on the south coast of England, you tend to get a wide variety of weather, although our little part of it tends to be a little drier than most. That said, the most reliable way to get some rain onto your poor, dehydrated gardening is to do this:

It's an almost foolproof plan, isn't it? The minute you get back inside and put your feet up with a cuppa, you'll hear the first few drops of rain on the window. At that point, you have a couple of options. You can either sit it out and hope that those few drops are all that will appear, or you can dash outside and grab everything off the line and bring it back in.

Naturally, either of those choices will be wrong. If you wait for even a couple of minutes, you'll be looking at a downpour. On the other hand, if you dash out, grab the washing and put it into the tumble drier, it's pretty much a dead cert that the rest of the day is going to be cloud-free and scorching hot.

You may think that's somewhat cynical of me, but Julie is basically of the same mind. Our logic then runs like this; if it stays dry, great. If not, then the clothes get an extra rinse. Fair enough, right?

However, logical as this idea is, Julie still managed to throw me one day. It had been threatening rain all morning, so it was a bit of a risk to put the clothes on the line. Julie applied our logic though, and began to hang it out. Meanwhile, I pottered around the kitchen, making us a cuppa. Suddenly Julie sped up, dashing in and out of the kitchen. Bemused, I asked if she was alright...

Um... What?

A very specific loss

You may have noticed that Julie has a certain way with words.
Specifically, a way that tends not to correspond with many other people.

As you may have noticed over the last couple of years, this is really rather entertaining. However, that entertainment comes at a cost. That cost is clarity. Usually, this isn't much of a problem; I can look round and see what Julie is referring to.
Unfortunately, if Julie is talking about something that's not to hand - or if I'm not in the same room as her - then it makes it much more of a guessing game.

Most of us, when faced with a word that is on the tip of our tongues, will stop talking and stare into space until we remember what we wanted. In fact, if you are anything like me, then you could end up staring into space for quite some time.

Not Julie. Oh no. Julie jumps in not only with both feet, but fully dressed and ready to go. In this instance, we were getting ready to go out for a walk. I was by the front door, putting on my shoes. Julie, for some reason, had gone into the kitchen and was there doing up her coat. Then there was a small noise, a clink.

Eventually, after some discussion, it was established that a metal part of her coat had come loose. It didn't help that Julie kept insisting "the thing - you know... the thing."
No... no, I don't...

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.

Bonus post - wot WAS the wotnot?

You may recall a post from a couple of weeks ago...

As I said at the time, "Context is everything". I'd written the Gem down but completely forgotten what the hell we were doing at the time to warrant such a situation.
Since I obviously hadn't a clue, I asked you for some help. Some of you commented on the Gem itself, others on my Facebook page. Also, some of you are either on medication or are in desperate need of some. You see, while one or two of the comments were disappointingly close to the truth,* there were also several that were bordering on inspired lunacy - or even in danger of becoming Gems in their own right.
HolzOnkel, commenting on the Gem itself wins a no-prize and a pat on the back for coming up with the most self-referential possibility - all based upon the tags/labels you'll find on the right of the page.

"Hold on - i need to put my dodgy logic on, or my loopy language will get self-aware."

Also worthy of a no-prize is Scribe, who definitely was trying to create a Gem (and wasn't doing too bad a job of it, to be honest...).

"I need to put my glasses on or my eyes will get dislocated."

Meanwhile, over on Facebook,  Michelle wins a no-prize for persistence and determination to add to the wackiness by posting a number of possibilities. She started slowly...

"I need to put my tea cozy on or my tea will get cold?"

But soon warmed up...

"I need to put my velociraptor on or my egg will get eaten?"

And finally achieved greatness with the frankly suggestive

"I need to put my lingerie or my husband will get none?"

My response to THAT one was "I dunno about that - he might think he's in for some if you DON'T wear it..."

*As I said, the truth behind the wotnots was predictably mundane - "I need to put my shoes on or my feet will get wet." Sharron and Michelle both thought that (or a close variation thereof), while back on the Gem page, Pinkshrimp was of the opinion Julie had been referring to gloves on her hands.
Hm.
I think I preferred hearing a series of 'wotnot's to the truth.
And you know what? I reckon you do too.

Saturday Bonus - Looking for hot chickens

Well, not precisely, but it got your attention, didn't it you perverts?*

Some weeks ago, a good friend of mine wasn't feeling too good and was feeling rather chilled, and not in the good, blissed-out sense. Fortunately, she had some comfortable slippers, a pair that could be made even more comfortable via a brief spell in a microwave oven. (Essentially, they're a shaped pair of wheat bags, similar to those I use for my headaches - although I don't tend to heat mine, or wear them on my feet...)
Not so fortunately, they developed a problem. And this problem led to an immediate misunderstanding on my part...

Initially, I had absolutely NO idea what to think. My mind literally boggled. And then parts of it we desperately trying to shut down or disown my damnable imagination as it came up with weirder and weirder explanations. I think it says something about me, something unpleasant, that I never managed to even come close to the mundane reality that was needing feathers to replace the lost wheat.
Shame on me. My friend certainly heaped scorn upon me, even if it was leavened (spot the vaguely bread-themed gag, pun pals!) with a lashing of amicable humour...

* Many apologies to Gonzo the Great, who has perfectly normal relationships with chickens. Normal for him, that is...

Julie is on a variable frequency.

Considering the output, it's not really all that surprising that we discuss Julie's near miraculous ability to baffle, delight and entertain. Unfortunately, there are a few snags to a free-flowing conversation on such a topic. One of the major stumbling points is that Julie simply can't remember half of the stuff she's come out with. Mostly, it's only the truly epic Gems that have lodged in her memory (such as The Doughnut, shitty tea, perverted prawns and the Octodog - and my personal favourite, Stop Making Sense).
The other main problem with holding a discussion with Julie is that whatever causes her to Gem at all will actually happen even when we're talking about the Gems in the first place. I know - it all sounds a bit Inception, doesn't it? How can we find the root of Julie's Gems? We have to go deeper...

Deeper into the past and into Julie's mind, as it happens. We were talking about Julie's Gems some time ago, and I raised a point that Julie herself had made on several occasions previously...

I'm sorry? Since when were 'frequently' and 'often' not synonymous?
I was reminded of this particular Gem the other day when I came across a T-shirt for sale at Zazzle.

Now... Do I dare buy it for Julie? Or am I too much of a coward...?

The emperor's old clothes

Following on from Monday's post, we're talking about the Abba tribute evening we went to last Saturday. Specifically, the outfits that some of the folks were wearing to the gig. We had all been encouraged to dress appropriately for the show, so there were lots of flares, as could be expected. Some missed the chronological mark by some distance and dressed up as 1960s flower power hippydip peaceniks, but others came in white, sequinned catsuits, which was fine for those that had the figure for it. I'm sure I don't need to go into detail. Another thing that these people in the white outfits could have done with realising is that, when wearing such pale attire, you'd be best advised to not wear black, chunky underwear. It sort of spoils the effect somewhat.

We had considered going in fancy dress ourselves, but there were two things wrong with that idea. Firstly, I wear pretty much the same kind of clothes as I did in the 1970s, albeit scaled up several notches up the scale. Shorts, polo shirt and sunglasses. I'm comfortable, so why change it? As far as Julie was concerned, there was a whole different problem...

This one was an 'eyes closed while I process this' moment. I know all the words, the grammar is passable and there is an underlying logic. However, the whole thing is just... wrong somehow.