Yawn porn

Roxy is a very affectionate dog, and misses us terribly if we aren't around. Dogs are very social animals in any case, and you aren't supposed to leave them alone or outside for too long a time. It must have been a lonely time at the rescue centre; three years on no family, just a rota of centre staff (who were wonderful) and an uncarpeted pen. This is why were indulge Roxy a little more than we perhaps should.

One of the ways we interact with Roxy is kissing - in the dog sense. If they lick your face, it is a sign of affection, and of admitting you are higher in the social standing than they are.

For the longest time, this was seen as being unhygienic and unhealthy. Now, while the first may be the case (until you have been woken up by dog breath in the morning, you may not agree), it seems that being licked by your dog is beneficial in many ways. It improves your mood - and the dog's; it helps with social bonding; it also can boost immune systems.

These days, kids are being wrapped in a sort of sterile bubble, not being allowed to play in in rough areas or rough ways. Lots of sterilised surfaces, sanitised this, anti-bacterial that. Unfortunately, this gives our immune systems nothing to do, and they dwindle through lack of use. This means that when something does come along which the system needs to face, it finds it is trying to fight a battle after the equivalent of military cutbacks has slashed its effectiveness drastically.

That said, Roxy can become a little too enthusiastic when she shows her affection - especially if you happen to mention the word W.A.L.K. On more than one occasion, I have been pinned to the armchair by 29 kilos of excited, slobbering dog.

Sunday mornings are a little different. We take a bit longer about getting going in the morning. A slow breakfast, followed by a cup of tea as we all sit on the sofa. Since it was morning, I was checking my phone for updates, fairly oblivious to the fact that there appeared to be a yawning contest taking place just to my left.

As everyone knows, it is almost impossible to keep from yawning once another member of your group has already done so. So it was that Julie and Roxy were taking turns in yawning, each apparently gaping wider each time - right up until I heard an exclamation from Julie.

Well, based on what I said about immune systems above, perhaps Roxy was just checking for cavities...

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...

Born to be wheeled.

Neither me nor Julie can be described as being light on our feet. We're not hugely clumsy, but we are insufficiently agile that we don't like to invite disaster; skiing is right out, for example. The idea of throwing ourselves down the side of a mountain doesn't thrill us one bit. Even the relatively safer option of strapping wheels to our feet would be a bad idea. It's not that our sense of balance is poor - just our coordination. And luck.

Is no rat - is hamstaaaarrgh!

Living in Eastbourne, you will see quite a lot of people with roller blades, skateboards and scooters making their way up and down the prom. It's not so busy at this time of year (and the frankly pissy weather we have had for the last few months won't help), but when the warmer and drier months come round, you definitely need to keep an eye or two out for whizzing 'bladers.*

That said, some people make it look so easy and efficient as a means of getting around that we both have the occasional pang of envy and/or wistfulness. And then reality - and a strong dose of pragmatism - prevails.

* And then there are the cyclists, whom we have to be wary of all year round. They shouldn't be on the prom at all, and whiz right past and even over signs telling them not to, but it doesn't stop them. Not that anything is done about it.
Oh well. Have a video.

A view to a kill

You had to be there, you really should have been there. I was in tears - quite literally.

Driving along, me and Julie were chatting away when we noticed a small heap in the road.

The heap, to me, was quite obviously a bird. Julie, however, was quite adamant that it had been a hedgehog before failing at Frogger. Now, I will admit that the sad, small pile had seen better days, but I'm pretty sure I recognise feathers when I see them.

You would not believe how long we argued about this. Seriously.
The thing was, Julie was using hand and head movements and truly bizarre sound effects to get across just how the roadkill looked like a deceased hedgehog.

As I said, I was literally in tears of laughter, which was not a good thing, seeing as how I was the one driving... Fortunately, we had come to a halt in traffic, which gave me a chance to wipe my eyes and to once again challenge Julie's notion. She wasn't having any of it though. She still reckoned she was right...

Imagine that!

Hythe is a small town on the south coast of Kent in England. It's had quite a history, especially since it shares a proximity to mainland Europe with its more famous neighbour, Dover. However, for the purpose of our tale today, it is simply a nice place to visit, with a long seafront promenade. You can park next to the promenade and then just stroll along.

Just one thing needs to be noted, though. You see that low wall separating the road and the promenade? Well, there aren't all that many gaps to allow you through. Yes, there is a whacking great gap in the photo above, but believe me when I say that is a rarity.

When Julie and me arrived, I happened to park in a stretch that seemed to be slap-bang in the middle of a long walled section. Time to clamber over, then.

At this point, it should be noted that neither of us can be classed as 'tall'. I am 5'5", and Julie is a tad shorter. While the wall is fairly low, it also has a fair width on it, enough that you can't simply step over it. Well, we can't anyhow.

I've done a lot of clambering for one reason or another in my time, so I managed it easily enough - if not exactly gracefully. Just as I was straightening up, I heard a commotion and a muffled curse from behind me. I turned and found that my wife had gone for the 'straddle' option. Unfortunately, the wall was a little wider than she had allowed for and had proved to be a tad uncomfortable.

Or, as Julie put it...

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Julie and the Impossible Table

There is actually a very famous optical illusion that uses tables - or, more precisely, table-tops to trick us into thinking two different looking shapes are in fact one and the same.

It's weird - both of the tables, even though the one on the left appears to be longer and thinner, are precisely the same shape and size. There is a great little animation proving it on Mighty Optical Illusions.

In the meantime, Julie seems to have created her own paradoxical table.

One evening, we were playing Scrabble. Julie was in 'thinking mode', and was resting her chin on her hand, while the elbow was on the table. However, she shifted slightly, and her elbow slipped off the table.

So... the middle of the table would also be the edge of the table.
Riiight... MC Escher would be proud.

It's close, but this is a real table that doesn't quite look right...

I found this on Gizmag
http://www.gizmag.com/optical-illusion-table/24239/

The great Greek flip-flop flop

Heh - say that fast three times in a row...

Anyway - as I mentioned in Monday's post, We have a friend from Greece visiting for a few days. Since she and Julie are familiar with each other, it was no effort to either of them to fall into an easy banter - especially when it came to taking digs at me. Julie may come out with some odd things now and then (yes, really!!), but she is very quick-witted, and usually manages to put me in my place with no problem.

However, the Sunday was the first day after our friend arrived and she was still somewhat jetlagged. Since I am really not at all good in the morning, Julie was pretty much the only bright spark in a sea of bleary dullness. It didn't help that I had the grand idea of taking our friend to her first car boot fair, an event which can be best described as a yard sale held in a field, where everyone turns up to sell their crap - I mean surplus goods.

As you can tell, you do get some turn up in vans; traders of one sort or another - but they have to pay a larger pitch fee as they will take up more space. Fair play. It is truly astonishing, though, just what people try to sell. Mind you, it's not nearly as astonishing as the fact that people will actually buy it. From rusty car parts, old Paul Young records (usually No Parlez) to a truly staggering amount of baby clothes and dog-eared paperback books, you will find pretty much everything.

On the other hand, you will also find the odd hidden gem, something that is just what you need. That rusty car part might be from an Aston Martin, a part that was last in production fifty years ago. If you are living on the breadline and are expecting a baby, this will be an ideal way to clothe your newborn tot. And yes, there are still some Paul Young fans out there.

As for me and Julie, we view these events as a good opportunity to add to our already substantial collection of hedgehog ornaments, toys and nick-nacks. It may have been at a car boot fair or in a charity shop that we managed to snag a lovely hedgehog doorstop.

Handsome chappie, no? Oddly enough, we haven't named this one, but I'm sure it's only a matter of time.

But I digress. This hedgehog is not simply for looks, we do utilise it as a doorstop. In fact, the door it is responsible for is that which belongs to the guest room, the room in which our friend is currently sleeping as I type this.

Back to the car boot fair. It had been a hot day and we had just dragged our still-weary friend around a dusty field. Having said that, we did treat her to her very first cream tea - with clotted cream, naturally. Unfortunately, despite the delicious refreshments and the elation of having bought her very first item from a car boot fair (a Stephen Fry book), our friend was unaccountably tired, so we bundled her off to her room for a bit of a rest.

On the way into her room, though, she stumbled. Now, I thought she had tripped over the 'hoggy doorstop, and, jokingly, accused her of mistreating that poor, poor animal, "I mean, what has it ever done to you?" I demanded.

How wrong I was. Our friend had not been guilty of mistreating a weighty stuffed animal, but of making a small misstep as a result of her footwear.

You mean, instead of being 'flop-flip'?

Heh. What a day; first boot fair, first cream tea - and her first Gem.

Touchy about temperatures

A little while ago, we decided to have Chinese food for dinner. In order to save a little money, we bought some ready meals at Tesco, and rounded it off with a pack of spring rolls. When it came to cooking the food, later that day, we found that while the spring rolls needed to be cooked in the oven, the meals and rice had to be done in the microwave.

With a little planning, we worked out the order in which everything needed to be cooked and set it all off.

A short while later, we took the tray of spring rolls out of the oven so that we could follow the instruction to turn them half-way through their cooking. Yes, we have tongs in the kitchen, but we couldn't be bothered to get them, so we just used our fingers instead.

That cartoon's not strictly accurate for the events. Partly because nobody cried tears (let alone what appears to be urine), but mostly because it was not me, but Julie that was wincing as she gingerly flipped the rolls over. Smiling slightly (I know, cocky bastard, or what?), I took over, nonchalantly turning each roll over, taking my time. Yes, I could feel they were hot, but they didn't seem to burn me, nor did I feel any pain.

Julie couldn't believe it, blaming it on some kind of machismo thing.
"Nah," I said, "I've just got asbestos fingers."
"What?" Julie exclaimed.

I explained:

Wait... so you want not hot heat...?

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...

Shorn of hair and short of sense.

We have something of a bonanza for you today; three Gems for the price of one. Not bad since they're free in the first place, eh?
Anyway.

I like to have my hair short. I just can't be bothered with all that high-maintenance that so many people seem to feel is necessary. One of the great things about really short hair is that washing it suddenly becomes a case of finding an available wash basin, getting a little bit of soap and away you go. That's nothing though. The best thing is that you can buy a set of clippers and do the whole cutting thing yourself. You save yourself so much money and hassle that way. Well, since I don't have it quite as short as suede, I'm not totally keen on clipping it myself, so Julie very kindly does this bit for me. I sit down, and away she goes.

Last Saturday, we were in town and I was looking at hair dyes. Julie asked if I wanted to 'go' red. I replied that I would, but they didn't have anything vivid enough for me. What I really want, I continued, is to colour it green. Julie's reply to this cannot be reproduced here on grounds of common decency, but be assured it wasn't a positive response.

Matt nil, Julie one.
On Sunday, we finally got around to cutting my hair. I know it had been a while, but I don't think it had really been  long enough for Julie to fall out of practise. She seemed to be a little rougher than usual.

Matt nil, Julie two. I'm not doing too well here, am I?
Like I said, Julie seemed to be struggling with my hair this time. There were plenty of tuts and sighs and stopping to clean hair out of the clippers. And then she complained,

Matt v Julie: Match cancelled due to extreme bafflement.
Apparently, Julie was passing comment on the length of my hair and how it was making the cutting process more difficult. You know, now I know that, I look back at the comment, and I still haven't got a bloody clue why she said that.

Going beyond approximation

You know it's a good day for Gems when it's hardly worth putting the notepad and pen back in your pocket.

Case in point; We were walking along the seafront. Just in front, there was a very young lad with his mother. Being young, he wasn't too steady on his feet, and it wasn't long before the inevitable happened...
Over he went and immediately - if not before - the caterwauling began. However, I have to give full credit to the mother. Apparently an old hand at this game, she efficiently scooped him up and deposited him onto a nearby bench, whereupon there was this little exchange.

"Right - let's get those shorts legs up and have a look at the damage, shall we?"
[the kid's wailing continues]
"See? Nothing wrong; no blood."
[The wailing cuts off like it was switched off] "No blood?!?"

Both Julie and me laughed at this. There was so much indignation in the young lad's voice; it had been a terrible accident - how dare there be no blood?
This was pure Gem as far as I was concerned, so I got pad & pen out. Now, I have to admit something here, something of a failing. I'm absolutely useless at guessing ages. If I'm within five years of a person's real age, then it's something of a miracle. So, pad at the ready, I turned to Julie...

See what I mean about it being a good day for Gems? Naturally, I needed to get this down too. I lose quite a few Gems this way, through not being able to keep up with events or simply not being able to remember how something went. If you have a flick through the posts tagged with 'rambling on', you'll see what I mean. Man, I need to get some kind of dictaphone... Either that or learn shorthand.

tata fer now!