Rubbing her up the right way

What with the hot, close weather, and a few other factors, the last few days have been quite draining. If you were to draw a diagram of my sleep pattern, it would probably resemble a Julia set.

Complex, almost chaotic - but pretty to look at.

As I write this, it is roughly 8:30, and I have been up and about since 4:30-ish. I have played cards, read some of a science book, done some writing, had a spot of breakfast, and completed a few puzzles in a magazine. About half an hour ago, Julie woke and switched her radio on to listen to the news. Roxy heard this from downstairs and came up to bid her 'good morning' and have a bit of attention.

I got dressed and came into my office to do the 'dailies' as I refer to my regular activities. However, no sooner had I sat down, than I heard Julie pipe up with something that absolutely demanded a reply.

For those of you that didn't know, Roxy is a bit of a tart, especially when it comes to having her belly rubbed. In fact, she will often go out of her way to make it easy for you and to indicate, in that ever-so-subtle manner of hers, that she wants a belly rub.

Sad song gone wrong

Roxy, bless her, is part staffie, part American bulldog. This means that she has a double dose of those genes that give a dog a mournful demeanour.

Not Roxy, still looking woebegone. But probably not at all sad.

This even happens when Roxy is happy, excited and various other emotional states that are not in fact 'sad'. Case in point: one day, not long after Julie had come home from work, Roxy was sat in her downstairs bed, recovering from her mad five minutes of greeting her 'mum'. We were sat in our own chairs, watching our dog, who was looking at us with pretty much the exact same expression as that above.

For some reason, Julie felt moved to sing a paraphrased version of a classic tune.

I didn't know if Julie meant the dog made the pies, or that the pies were made of dog. And you know what, I didn't really feel like finding out...

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...

Ewe have to be joking...

If you drive a particular journey often enough, it begins to feel like the distance has increased. Having the radio on, or music can help, as can sharing the journey with a companion. You can chat or play games such as I-spy or, as we often do, alphagames. However, even then, you will often find there are times when there is simply nothing to say and you just don't feel like playing any games. You're on a motorway, doing a steady 65mph, you and your companion have exhausted all the normal topics of conversation.

And you begin to zone out.

It's not the same as falling asleep, but it can be just as dangerous.

If I am on my own and I feel like I am slipping into The Zone, I make sure I have some upbeat music - rock, ska, pop, whatever - and crank up the volume to disguise my abysmal singing voice. If Julie is with me, then I try and come up with a speculative area for a conversation. Why? Because there is no way any answer my wife would come up with would be in any way dull. In fact, I will often be in danger of not being able to see because of laughing so hard...

On one journey, I felt my eyes unfocusing. Time to come up with a conversation starter. Hm. How about reincarnation?

Trust me when I say that the car was quiet for a little while following that - although that was mainly because I honestly couldn't think of anything to say...

This seems apt enough, though.

Oooo - just there!

Roxy, our rescue dog, is a very friendly girl - if a little reserved. She does love to be close to the ones she loves, and it's a rare morning that I wake up without a dog on my bed that wasn't there when I fell asleep. And given that Roxy is a solid bit of doggie, that should tell you something about how deeply and soundly I sleep.

One of Roxy's favourite situations is for us to be both on the sofa, with her in between us and getting attention from us both. She especially likes belly rubs.

Belly rub, please!

One evening recently, the three of us were on the sofa, watching something on TV. Well, me and Julie were. Roxy was too busy drifting off to sleep in a state of attention-induced euphoria.
I had the task of giving Roxy a headrub, while Julie was in charge of the belly rubs. Every now and then, Roxy would shift position slightly, so as to provide us with access to a particular area that she felt was lacking attention. Unfortunately, in Julie's case, this meant that her hand strayed into what would be uncomfortable territory, if Roxy had been human...

I say thee neigh!

A Thelwell pony, looking alarmed. Why? Read on.

On a recent visit to my mum, she, myself and Julie were sat around the table, enjoying a game of Scrabble. Julie noticed that I hadn't got my notepad with me and was quite pleased when I remarked in a jocular manner that I was giving her the night off.

Silly me.

Honestly, it must have been the most Gem-packed time I have ever known.

One of the hallmarks of our family Scrabble games is a penchent for - accidentally - going in a place that blocks the next player on. Mum is particularly vocal when it happens to her, and this occasion was no exception. I have no idea what I put down, but I was immediately labelled as a 'ratbag' and it was commented, with a very loud 'tut', that you "just can't choose your family, can you?"

Hot on the heels of this well-worn saying, Julie piped up, mixing metaphors and the gods know what else...

Well, you probably could, but that's not to say that you should.

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In case you weren't aware of his work, the equine at the top was sketched by a very well-known English cartoonist by the name of Thelwell. He was most famous for his cartoons of rotund ponies and little girls, which, when I say it like that, sounds like he should have been arrested...

Instead, I invite you to go look at the website and perhaps to google him.

A-groping and a-growling we will go!

It's been something of an open secret for the last few months that I have been suffering from acute depression and anxiety - enough to give me panic attacks out in public. I've been trying various forms of treatment and medication, but for one reason or another, they have not managed to do the trick thus far.

Readers of this blog will know that my mother has a dog, a Jack Russell terrier by the name of Toby. He's a family dog and something of an attention whore, but a highly intelligent one, nonetheless.
Intelligence was a hotly-debated topic with our previous dog, Skip. He was a pure-breed English Springer Spaniel, and bloody huge. I don't mean fat, but tall and stocky - I would often have people stop and ask me what breed he was, because you just don't get Springers that large. However, Skip was either clever and sneaky or just plain bloody daft. Honest - we couldn't work it out, even after a dozen years.

Back to Toby.

He loves to cuddle up next to you on the sofa, wedging himself tightly between you and the arm of the sofa (or chair, if you're skinny). In fact, it's slightly alarming, because he curls himself up so much you wonder how he manages to breathe.
However, once he's there, it then becomes a case of symbiosis. He's feeling so much better for cuddling up to you, sure. But, as you stroke him, you feel yourself feeling better too. It's an established fact that petting animals can help people's mood to change for the better - generally. There are limits, of course.

Me - I'm a dog person through and through. Some months ago, Julie thought it would be a good idea to visit a rescue centre, one which allowed you to meet and greet the animals.
Wow.
We both came away wanting a dog - different dogs, though. Julie liked a Jack Russell, while I fell head over heels for a female boxer by the name of Princess. She'd been there a long time and had developed that institutionalised mentality; resigned to her fate. I'd walked up to her pen and managed to coax her to the door. We sat there for a little while, 'chatting', while I tried to stroke her through the gate.
Unfortunately, we can't have a dog. We don't have the money, we're both technically working full-time - and the terms of our house rent forbids it.
That meant that, after Julie came back to get me, I had to stand and leave Princess behind.
She started crying, and it broke my heart.

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More recently, we were out on a drive and had stopped in Hythe in Kent. It was lunchtime and we walked along the semi-pedestrianised high street, peering into various cafes. Hythe was busy, and the cafes reflected this, so we kept walking, hoping to find somewhere a little quieter.

Enter Truly Scrumptious.

As you can see, it's set back from the street a little, sharing a courtyard with some other establishments.

It seemed to be a little quieter than the other places, so we decided to give it a shot.

As we walked in, we heard rock 'n' roll music playing; that was a plus for me, as you all-too-often find that the omnipresent Heart FM will be worming its way through the cafe speakers. As I headed up to the counter to ask whether they had soy milk (I also have a milk intolerance), I was gratified to see the largest collection of teas and infusions I have ever seen outside of a supermarket. Heck - I've seen supermarkets with less of a range. Apparently, tea is an obsession of a level normally associated with coffee drinkers for one of the owners. That said, I was told that her husband (sorry! I forgot to ask your names!) is precisely that sort of coffee enthusiast.

Fancy a brew? Of course you do.

In the end, after some agonising over the infusions, I went for a pot of our celebrated favourite, Lapsang Souchong - with soy - and a plate of chips with cheese and chilli. Julie just had a sausage inna bun and a bottle of Coke.

As we waited for our order, more people arrived. In fact, it rather looked as though we had got there and ordered just in time to beat the rush. Some stayed inside, some went and sat outside. Mind you, since they had dogs with them, the cafe policy meant they had to remain outside.
We were sat next to a large plate glass window, and a couple arrived with their dog to sit at the table just outside from us.

Oh, but what a dog.

This is Finn. What a handsome chap.

Obviously, there is a large amount of spaniel going on there and since my family had had an English Springer before, I was definitely melting inside. At our table, my tea arrived, much to Julie's disgust. I paid it hardly any heed. The same went for the i crossword we were poring over. I was trying to decipher the clues, but I kept being distracted by the dog outside.

In the end, Julie gave up, exasperated in a good-humoured way.

Er, what? I think you'll find that's stroked' or 'petted', love.

Of course, I did give in to my impulse and went outside to introduce myself to the dog and his humans.* As it turned out, the dog went by the name of Finn and had an interesting story.
Finn was found wandering the streets, somewhere in Ireland (I forgot to ask which Ireland. Mea Culpa). When he was picked up, he was taken to one of the Dogs' Trust centres in Scotland and from there, he was then adopted by a couple from Suffolk. And there I was, an ex-pat Brummie (Birmingham) from Eastbourne,  on a day out to a Kentish town bumping into an Irish dog and his new family. Cool.

Apparently, Finn is a cross-breed, a mix of Springer spaniel and setter, the latter explaining the grey spotting on his coat. Funnily enough, his humans (whose names I also neglected to note. Sorry!), had always said they didn't want a spaniel, because they had had experience with them before and found that, like me and Skip, spaniels can be just a tad brainless.
Happily, Finn cast a spell upon them, and they were immediately smitten.
As was I.
>sigh<
Oh well. At least I didn't have to worry about Finn's future, he now had a good home, it would appear.

SERIOUS BIT
OK folks, I want to make a little request here.
If, like me, you want to have a dog for a companion, then I would like to congratulate you on your choice. However, when you go looking for one, please be careful about the people and places you get them from. Puppy farms are not illegal, but if you do go this route, be very sure that they are registered with all the proper authorities, and that the animals have had all the shots and medication, with the documentation to prove it.
Please don't buy from a small ad in a local newspaper, or via some unknown on the internet.
In fact, considering the amount of dogs that escape, are discarded or rescued from owners who mistreated them, why not go to a rescue centre, be a hero and rescue a dog yourself. You'll feel even better when you 'fondle' them, then.

*Yes, I did make a fuss of Finn. He was a happy dog, as most Springer spaniels are, and his grin and his energy was infectious. Yes, I felt a lot happier for his presence.

It's a weird, weird world

I may just have this as a sort of occasional series - just to show that Julie still isn't as baffling as what people do out there in la-la land.

Today, browsing the net as you do, I came across a video clip of Whinny the Pooh.
I have to confess to being rather trite, as I didn't report that bit quite right.
'Winny Puhh' was how I then read the name, and wondered just what was the game.
With trepidation did I press 'play', and hoped there was no cause for me to pray.
With WEIRD I was fully lambasted, my eyes with terrible oddities blasted.
With jaw on the ground, and brain spinning round, and about to enter a fit.
I hit the pause button and wondered, "Just what is this shit?"

Ladies and Gentlemen - and others - please welcome, all the way from Estonia in North East Europe, Winny Puhh - don't they look a treat...

And, for you gluttons for punishment, here is a clip of them performing... something...

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...

You're just not listening, are you?

I'll be honest. Sometimes, when Julie goes off on one of her verbal rambles, I tend to tune out. This is especially true if I'm trying to read.
What I didn't realise, though, is that I'm not alone in this. Apparently, Julie also tends to pay very little attention to what she is saying...

Now, the keen-minded among you will realise that this means that a simple (but possibly foolhardy) application of logic will tell you that someone else may well be paying attention. This is true. Mind you, that other person may also be Julie.
Don't ask.
Just don't.

Venus in Blurred Jeans and other shenanigans

They say a week is a long time in politics. It's also a long time in science, weather, blogging and - more to the point - it's a long time for Julie to remember things that people may have said.

A week ago, the orbit of the planet Venus happened to pass between us and the sun, resulting in some first class pictures and a lot of scientific data. A little closer to home, where Jubilee mania was well and truly in full swing, the transit of Venus resulted in confusion and a somewhat baffling Gem, courtesy of one of my colleagues. This was posted on Friday. On the following day, Julie and myself were sat in the living room, and I asked if she had read the Gem yet. As it happened, she had, but - touching upon an earlier conversation we'd had - wanted to make a point about it. I was completely unprepared for the resulting conversation.

In other words, you have been warned.
Now read on.

I was absolutely speechless. Just when it seemed Julie couldn't up the 'Odd' ante any more, there she went.
Epic. Truly epic.

Transitory Jubilations

Nationally, and internationally, there have been some big reasons for hogging the headlines in a positive manner. One of them was the very recent transit of the planet Venus across the face of the sun. It took a few days to do it, but it was easily visible to anyone who had the most rudimentary of equipment. Even a pair of cheap binoculars would have done it - although you had to take precautions, naturally. Even with a little disc taken off, there's plenty of light to cause permanent damage to your eyes. Take a look at this cunning device for eclipse-watching.

Clever, eh? Would it have been worth looking like a wally, though, just to see a little dot on the face of the sun? Well, yes. Don't take my word for it, here's a picture of Venus set against the sun, taken on June 4th.

In case you weren't sure, that little black circle is Venus, set against
a magnificent dawning sun.

Beautiful, isn't it?*
Sadly, by the time you read this, it will all be over, bar the dissection of data gathered by various scientists. The last time it happened was back in 2004, but don't get excited, because I can pretty much guarantee you'll never have a chance to see it first-hand again. You see, this particular phenomenon only occurs in widely space pairs over an even more widely-spaced period of time. Here's a good description of the science bit - with no difficult parts.

I was talking about this to a female colleague of mine last week, as we sat in the canteen at work. At another table, one of our other colleagues was sat playing a game on his phone. Most of the talk was between my female friend and myself and it was a little vague, because we were excitedly talking at cross-purposes about the transit and trying to explain it to yet another colleague.
The point we were especially trying to make was the need for him to pull his finger out and make plans to either observe the transit of Venus or book a berth in a cryogenics facility. After all, it was literally a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, as my female colleague explained - before the game-player suddenly jumped in and came up with a comment that blew us all out of the water, metaphorically speaking.

Nice one, mate. Science to a diamond jubilee in one giant and very uneasy step. In case you weren't aware from our last post, Queen Elizabeth has reigned over Britain and certain Commonwealth countries for sixty years now. This fact has elicited a massive jubilee, resulting in a four-day weekend for many and street parties all over.
Quite what this has to do with a planet crossing the face of the sun, I'm not sure, but I suppose I can't really deny he was actually quite correct. Her Majesty, even ignoring her currently advanced age, will never get another chance to see Venus taking a leisurely stroll across our nearest star.
Oh well.

*ZME Science (a superb general science blog by an enthusiastic amateur) has an excellent article with even better photographs, so why not trot along and enrich your mind.

Bonus post - It's a nice way to kill time

A friend of mine from gaming days of yore has graciously allowed me to share this little event with you...

Paul and his wife, Lisa, were waiting for a TV show to begin and were successfully avoiding the ads by having themselves a pleasant natter. They both enjoy the show, but it so happens that it's actually Lisa's favourite. Paul was lost in the conversation, but Lisa, who had been keeping a weather eye on the TV, saw that the show was about to begin. With a pithy ability to get right to the point, Lisa cut into the conversation with this...

Um. Yes, dear...
(shutting up now, dear)

When I saw this, I knew I had to appropriate it for Julie's Gems. However, I needed a little background first. After all, the only thing I knew at first was a simple sentence on Facebook.

See what I mean?
Apparently Lisa "has a thing for serial killers. Long story."
Erk. Having asked the question, I was now reminded of a quote from Terry Pratchett's 'Mort'

Yes, it definitely served me right.

In case you happened to be interested, the TV show in question was Criminal Minds.
Many thanks to Lisa and to Paul, who is probably in for a world of pain when Lisa finds out he allowed me to post this.

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Now I've managed to shoehorn a Terry Pratchett quote into the blog, I may as well take the opportunity to once more plug the free book draw taking place. If you want a special edition copy of 'Good Omens' and an official Julie's Gems bookmark (with a chance to also blag a copy of Audrey Niffenegger's 'The Time-Traveler's Wife' and a slap watch), then send us an email by this Sunday to juliesgemsuk@hotmail.co.uk

Bonus post: Mitt Romney and the bland beliefs.

Don't ye just LOVE politics? Corruption and lies all the way.
The big thing, though is the speech. The speech that every politician gives when he's in dire need of some support from the likes of you and me. Once upon a time, they would write the speech themselves and what we would hear could be entertaining, boring, passionate, limpid, brief or epically huge and bombastic.
Not these days. Now, any politician with a little money prefers to rent somebody else's wordsmithing skills. Not only that, but they will also then often employ a proof reader to check for any errors or inappropriate content.

Enter Mitt Romney.
Mitt is the current man of the moment for the USA Republican Party. Should the party, in this latest presidential campaign, garner the most votes, then he will be the man in the Oval Office.
Oh bloody hell.
My apologies to any members or supporters of that political party, but the man is a brain-dead, charisma-free nincompoop.
Why? Well, let me show you. Bearing in mind all I just said about speeches and hiring writers to jot things down for them. take a look at this particular Gem.

See that section I highlighted? Isn't it beautiful? I mean, if you want to hear a perfect example of trying to say so little with so many words, then you don't really need to look any further than this chuffing pillock.
I'm sorry, America, but I can't honestly believe you have already forgotten the chimpanzee known as George 'Dubya' Bush, the guy you had before Obama.
For more on this you can read Mark Steyn's article.

Excuse me, I need to go rescue my brain...

Exfoliating fish fatalities

Some months ago, one of 'those' shops appeared in our shopping centre. You know the type. It's some new health fad and you know it's only going to be a short time before it disappears as swiftly as it arrived.
Sure enough, less than three months later, it was closed up, looking for all the world as though it fully intended to re-open once more tomorrow. We knew better. Another three months on, and guess what? Still nothing. I know vanity (along with a need for coffee, apparently) will be one of the last things to go - witness all the hair salons and (why, fer gods' sakes, why?) nail bars. However, a salon sole-ly (ahem) for the purpose of dunking your feet in so some fish with an apparent foot-fetish?

"Just when you thought it was safe to back into the water;
have you seen what they bloody charge for this crap?"

You may have gathered I'm not a huge fan of all these pampering things. I look at people forking over money to stick their manky feet in a tub of garra rufa and think to myself, "Why don't you just have a bath at home and clean your own feet, you lazy bastards?" A nail bar, I can just about understand - if you don't have the expertise, then your nails will look like crap. It's still vanity, but there you go. With the fish/foot fetish thing, absolutely nothing extra is offered. Everybody has the wherewithal to be able to wash their feet (OK, not literally, but then those unfortunates tend to have carers. I doubt they whisk their charges off to an aquarium for perverts).
Pardon me for a minute, I'm going to briefly morph into a Daily Mail reader - "More money than bloody sense, these people! No wonder the world is in financial crisis!"
Sorry about that, folks, I just had to get it out of my system. Julie, by the way, isn't too keen on the fish thing either...

Ew. Fair enough, but.. ew.

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...

But.. how does she know?

A few months ago, we and some friends went to see a comedian by the name of Milton Jones. He's ... odd. Odd to look at, with his unruly, gravity-defying mop of hair and natty line in Hawaiian shirts, and odd to watch. Very bloody odd. Have a look at him performing some of his finest and most surreal one-liners..



Apologies to those of you falling foul of the 'sorry, but you can't watch this in your country, nya nya nya!' syndrome. To those that watched it, you'll understand completely why Milton is one of Julie's favourite performers.

After the show, we drove home and chatted about the show and other things. Somehow, the conversation turned to sleep and sleep-walking and so forth. This reminded me of something I am apt to do quite a lot, much to the consternation of various people. Not that Julie was that impressed, as she then tried to outdo me.

There was silence for a few minutes after that one as three of us tried that one from various angles. The fourth one was still trying to start the mental engines, I think... I mean, I know you can hear things while you sleep. It's what wakes us up in the middle of the night or the morning (sometimes - see a forthcoming Gem), so we can get up for work. But, to actually listen? To make sense of what you hear?

Then again, I guess it's possible. After all, considering I can actually hold a coherent (if bizarre) conversation with someone else as I sleep, then I suppose I must be actively listening. I'm serious. You get me at the right time, and I'll freak you out completely. 

For example, when I was younger and still living at home, my mum heard me and my sister talking. Loudly. Well, we had to - we were in separate rooms. Coming up the stairs to see what the shouting was about, my mum poked her head around my door - the first one she reached.

Are you alright?
Yes, Mum. Why do you ask?

I was totally asleep (as was my sister, apparently), and to answer my mother, I turned my head to face her and replied - without even opening my eyes.

Poor Mum. She had to go and have a large rum & coke to steady her nerves...

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Got a Gem story of your own? Have an acquaintance who seems to be a few words short of a sentence? Why not email us with them?

juliesgemsuk@hotmail.co.uk

Sing the song, but PETA and the RSPCA have been informed.

Just a quick bonus Gem for you today; I'm back at work tomorrow, which means we'll probably be back on the standard posting rate of Monday/Wednesday/Friday. There will be occasional bonus posts, but nothing like the frequency we've had over the last couple of weeks.

Once again, Julie has been singing to herself. Once again, Julie hasn't been sticking to the lyrics.

The awful thing is that the second line actually scans perfectly for the song and has thus now replaced the real one in my head. I just hope to hell nobody asks me to sing it, because I know which version I'm likely to sing if I'm not concentrating too much...

Retirement - not always easy.

It's difficult, sometimes, trying to come up with a snappy title for these Gems. Usually, the problem is trying to be brief or not give away the punchline. Today, I have the added difficulty of avoiding the possibility I might scare people off. The 'D'-word does that, you see.
Ah, heck with it. I'll just lay it out for you and then you can see what I'm talking about.

See what I mean? If I start posting things with the word 'death' in the title, people are going to avoid it like an over-used simile.

Oh - in case you were wondering, Julie was working things out and trying to plan for the future. That said, I'm not sure the concept of 'planning' sits well with the idea of taking the path of least resistance...

Next up today, a possible money-spinner.