Old Tom

 

 

 

 

Interrobanging: Again, Cos I'm SOOOOO busy!

Have you ever interrobanged? 

You may well have done when describing, for example, a lollapalooza or ninnyhammer.

I, to my shame, did so whilst answering an email which contain the word callithumpian.

I fired off a quick emailed query regarding said word to the originator of the email and 

I used a multiple interrobang.

I kicked myself ,almost as soon as the email departed my laptop, as realisation

dawned that someone somewhere would know there was a word out there that 

I didn't know!

I do now! 

 

Qeenie: Trooping the Colours

How I Became Who I Am

As a teenager, when considering my future, I found it difficult to decide which direction my adult professional life should take.

I couldn't decide between being a surgeon, carrying out life saving operations on a daily basis, or a fireman.

Of course, as a fireman, I would be required to rush into burning buildings and face danger and stress of unimaginable proportions, thereby risking life an limb for the safety of others. As a surgeon, as my mother pointed out, the worst that could happen is that I would occasionally go home at nights with small pieces of strangers lodged under my fingernails.

Neither of which seemed very appealing.

I decided to be unemployed instead.

But it didn't last long.

First I managed to fend off the threat of becoming a welder for a company making engine housings (for small boats). It involved dirt and grime and was therefore, obviously, not for someone as delicate as me.

Then came an invitation for an interview for the post of clerical assistant in a newspaper (the Newcastle Journal) office. This too, with the grace and skill of a young Pele, was sidestepped and gleefully avoided.

There were others too!

Morticians assistant in the local hospital ... sounded dead boring!

Farmhand ... hard work!

Supermarket trolley collector ... and endless, poorly rewarded chore!

Oh, they all needed my special skills in one way or another.

But I was a happy-go-lucky teenager and, as my final week as a professional school kid came to an end with the joys of idleness awaiting me, I was oblivious to the impending dangers of life without pocket money!

Yes, as my school career ended, so did the financial support of the Bank of Mum and Dad!

It was a shock, I can tell you!

That is when my cousin Lynn and her husband arrived home from Germany (he was in the Army).

When they came to see us, I thought it was for a cup of tea and a catch-up chat. Little did I know that a plan had been hatched and I was to be kidnapped under the pretext of 'going for a drive' and deposited at the doors of the local Army careers office.

Struggle? Of course I struggled! I fought like a tiger! Blood was spilled (almost).

But, if you had known Lynn, you would also have known that resistance was futile ... and could be painful!

They dragged me in ...

... and I never looked back!

I became a soldier and ... good or bad ... became the man I am today. All through that (violent) encounter with my cousin and her husband.

And, although there have been a few occasions when I have regretted that incident, there have been many, many more when I was grateful for their intervention.

Sometimes you need a helping hand.

Or a kick in the arse!

Connections: Windows, Farts and Cheese.

This morning, as my stubby little fingers hovered over the keyboard awaiting a spot of creative brain activity, the word 'defenestration' (in a Belgian Poirot-like accent) popped into my mind.

As I was panning to write about the bacterial farts that create the holes in cheese, I was somewhat surprised.

It's a grand word, I admit, but I was totally at a loss as to what it meant.

I refused point blank to resort to Wikipedia, or some similar site, for a definition and resorted to some good old fashioned brain wracking in order to work out it's meaning.

'I'm a smart chap' I thought. 'I should be able to work this out!'

And I did!

Of course it means the act of throwing someone or something from a window.

Problem solved!

But it begs the question 'why did I think of it in the first place?'

It's not as if the bacteria in cheese - the bacteria that farts, thus creating all those holes - would ever want to throw anything out of a window ... even if there were windows in cheese.

And why would that word pop into my mind in a Belgian accent?

I have no answers, I'm afraid, other than perhaps I'm losing my sanity. After all who in their right minds would contemplate writing an article about cheese full of farty holes? Perhaps that is what pushed me over the edge.

Anyway, it's nice to be back after my short break!