Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Sunday, January 27, 2008

They can't take that away from me

Mathematics is/are rubbish. Arithmetic is logical, but mathematics - no. This negative numbers bit, for example. I live in a rural village, and have done a course at agricultural college on Small Flock Management. I know a fair amount about sheep. I can drench them, I can dag them, I can trim their feet, I can inject them, I can deliver their lambs. All the sheep were positive (apart from the depressed ones, that is). One sheep, two sheep, three sheep - yep, no problem there. But we're told that if you add two negative numbers, you get a positive. What nonsense. But if I didn't have two sheep, and someone didn't give me two sheep, I wouldn't suddenly have four sheep gambolling around the garden, eating the vegetables and falling into the pond. Therefore the whole concept of negative numbers is patently absurd. QED.

Thursday, January 24, 2008

Run Rabbie, run Rabbie, run run run

I was in the bottom-slapping supermarket today, searching for a haggis for tomorrow's Burns' Night supper. It's surprising how popular these events are, south o' the Border, with many pubs and restaurants advertising them and going the whole hog with piper and speeches and everything. We don't go that far - just pluck it and gut it and boil it and slit it open and serve with the appropriate bashed veg. But I digress. Anyway, I searched the chiller cabinets but couldn't find any, so I asked an assistant if they stocked them, or had perhaps sold out. "Ooh!" she said "Is it for the Scottish New Year?"

Monday, January 21, 2008

And so the conversation turned

Conversation at a party.

"And what do you do for a living?"
"I'm a professional dancer."
"Oh that's interesting. What sort of dancing? Tap, ballet ...?"
"Lap and pole."


Sunday, January 20, 2008

We eat ham and jam and ...

... and yes, you've guessed it. It started a few weeks ago at a friend's pot-luck supper party when, long after the time when all sensible souls would have realised they were too tired and emotional for rational thought and would have retired to the Land of Nod, someone suggested a themed supper party, one where all the dishes had to contain a particular ingredient. Last night was the party date, and the chosen ingredient was ... spam.

The Spam Madras was surprisingly tasty, as was the Spamish Omelette. The Spamosas were particularly successful, mainly because you didn't notice the spam in them. The cheese-and-spam crumble was all right, but the spam-and-potato pie was a step too far. Fortunately people had been more cautious with the puddings, and the spam in the trifle was still safely in its tin and therefore avoidable, and the carrot cake merely had Spam written in Swedish blue and gold icing.

Nobody had been aware of the fat content of this particular meat product - something like 30% - and with the flowing alcohol needed to wash down the food, everyone's feeling somewhat liverish and jaded today. Suggestions are now sought for the next theme.

Edit: Oh good Lord, I've just discovered this. Anyone going to Austin in April?

*groans with digestive discomfort*

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Nothing's right, I'm torn

Sometimes it's very difficult not to say anything, when correct medical advice contradicts correct ethical advice. It's true that medically it may well be sensible for a bitch to have a litter at her first season, but ethically that's so wrong. For a start the tests for many genetic conditions (such as HD and numerous eye conditions) can't be done so young and breeding from an untested animal is leaving yourself wide open to lawsuits if the pups prove to be suffering from one of the conditions. For another thing it's against the KC's own rules and those (usually even stricter) of the breed clubs. Plus the bitch is still only a puppy herself - it's a bit like recommending that girls aged 13 should be starting their families. But butting in and giving contradictory advice to a client isn't a wise idea either.

Tuesday, January 01, 2008

That's how elementary it's gonna be

Clarkson, May, Hammond.
Steve, Ricky, Ned.
Compo, Foggy, Clegg.

The future's already been written. Oh dear.