Get what you're paid for

It's that time of the year when pay slips reveal how much of a pay rise you've been given and equally, how much your boss loves you (or if they even know you). Well, I had hoped it would be more (it certainly couldn't be less!!) ... and now you get to chose the punchline. Is it - a: Any less and I'd have had to give them money. b: I've left bigger tips in restaurants. Or c: Well, if I did any work and stopped moaning for a minute they might think about paying me more.

Now, before you answer, remember I know where you live. Still I can always take comfort in the fact that over the years I've probably pinched the equivalent of my pay rise in paper clips!!!

26 miles, 385 yards for what?

Although not something I've ever personally been interested in, it's the weekend of the London Marathon. Over 3 hours of watching people dressed up as chickens, dildos or assorted movie characters running until they bust a gut has never appealed to me. The only entertaining part is when the runners have to pass through crack-den infested council estates, being eyed up by gangs of hoodies who'd quite fancy a new pair of adidas trainers, as it happens. Then you see how fast they can really run. It goes from a jog and a wave at a camera to the charge of the bloody Light Brigade!

I'm not one to gloat. But...

So this is what backing a Grand National winner is like? I'm more used to getting up to put the kettle on before the field even reaches the first open ditch, game over. Most horses I back don't know what a winning post looks like, though a fair few do know what the inside of a tin of dog food looks like!! I didn't even know you're supposed to cheer as your horse crosses the line in front. I just sat there open-mouthed like a moronic Guppy fish thinking, "Damn! Wish I'd put some money on it!"

Well, I'll be!

I'm as surprised as anyone else!!!

It's the Grand National

It's Grand National day. That Saturday when I make my annual donation to the Bookmakers Benevolent Fund. A day when I sit excitedly in front of the telly, sweaty palmed (yes, I'm still talking about the Grand National!) and watch my brave selection make his valiant, heroic attempt to win this historic race...only to collapse in a sorry heap at the first fence. It's not like I just stick a pin in the runners & riders, I study form. Is the horse a distance winner? A course winner? At least won something other than a church raffle? What's his star sign? (funnily enough, every racehorse is a Capricorn, like me!) Then I look to the jockey, the trainer, anything to give me the edge over Mr William Hill. But it never amounts to anything other than bitter disappointment, similar to that feeling the person who invented the wheel had when his glory was snatched away from him by the bugger who invented two wheels!
For the record : I've gone for Don't Push It...Lord have mercy on his soul.

Left at Albuquerque

Someone at work once asked me to draw her cartoon, just something showing a surfer and a VW Camper van. The rest was up to me. I usually draw in b&w and so gave her the original but always promised to have a go at a colour version. There's a reason I stick to b&w. I reckon I must be partially colour blind 'cos I can't match one colour with another for the life of me! At least I've had a go. Now maybe I should tell it's on this blog otherwise she'll never see it!

Police pet shop sting

No, not an item about a bunch of 80's music types, but a few days ago the Sun newspaper ran an item about a "sting" operation in Manchester. This led to the prosecution of a 66 year old woman for, and I shit you not, selling a goldfish to a 14 year old school boy. She's been given a £1,000 fine and tagged! She's also been given a seven week curfew which among other things will prevent her from seeing a Rod Stewart concert. (not all bad news, then!) What makes this all the more laughable is the council issued a statement saying, "Let this conviction send out a message." And that message is? We can't catch proper criminals for toffee so we'll go after little old ladies instead.

I think I've discovered where milk comes from

Sitting on the toilet at work the other day (where I freely admit to pondering many of life's imponderables) I looked down at my new shoes. Noticing the canvas/suede combination, I thought about other suede shoes I've owned and that I always had to spray them to make them waterproof. Then thought, why? I've seen cows standing in fields in the rain many times but doubt any of them ever think, "Bloody hell, Daisy. It's pissing down. Better get some shelter, lass." I'm not aware of farmers having to wring the water out of their cattle after a downpour. This means suede must be waterproof after all. Unless the rain does pass through them and collects in their udders, and, get this... is squeezed out as MILK.  I can think of no other reason. After all, in drought ravaged lands cows produce no milk at all!!! I thank you.

Easter Egg

As we all know, the Easter Bunny will be coming down your chimney this weekend to leave Chocolate eggs under your Easter tree. (I think) But did you know that only a few special hens are selected each year: hens that have the magic gift to lay chocolate eggs. It's something that is passed down from generation to generation. Laying the chocolate eggs is no problem in itself but it don't half hurt laying the ones that come with a free mug !!!