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Tuesday, May 27, 2003

I believe strongly that it's important to try new things in life, in order to broaden your horizons and learn more about yourself. With this in mind, I bought some sugar-free jelly crystals from Tescos on Saturday. I've not had them before, but I mixed them up yesterday, and was unfortunate enough to spill some as I filled the jelly moulds. This produced two results: my kitchen worktop now features a strawberry red stain which even the most dangerous chemical cleaners known to man have failed to remove, and secondly, my hand looks like it's been involved in some kind of industrial accident. Extensive handwashing has made little difference to the red marks I'm now sporting all over my fingers. I'm afraid to go out in case people try to rush me to casualty. And more to the point, what is this stuff going to do to my insides if I'm actually brave enough to eat any of it???

Wednesday, May 21, 2003

Life Lesson 259a:
If you find yourself talking to a friend one evening and foolishly allow yourself to be persuaded to read your newly completed piece of micro fiction over the phone, it's just possible the aforementioned friend might find it difficult to see past the first reference to an axe, and thereby miss the subtle nuances of the composition. But personally I don't think it's necessarily a bad thing to be called a freak with an axe fixation.

Saturday, May 17, 2003

Well blow me down, Hawk Wing only went and did it. Winning a Group 1 by eleven lengths, and adding another tidy sum to the Phil-Hawk Wing Investment Fund. I could kiss Julie Reinger. If I was desperate. And drunk. And blind. Maybe.
It's a well established fact that Julie Reinger, the Look East weathergirl, is officially the most annoying woman on planet earth. And the fact that I've had six search engine hits in the last month from people looking for info on her isn't going to stop me saying so. But for once I'm prepared to tolerate her acting like an eight year old, temporarily at least, and all in the name of love. Not love for her, that would be ridiculous. I'm not a professional footballer for a start. But love for Hawk Wing, the best horse ever to finish second on a daily basis. He runs this afternoon for the first time since September, but only if the ground stays good. Which means that for once Ms Reinger might be worth tolerating. Any rain in the next few hours and I'll be deprived of the bit of innocent equine lusting I've been looking forward to all winter. Never has the British weather meant so much to me. Unfortunately the chances of JR's forecasting being accurate, are about the same as Hawk Wing not finishing second. I wouldn't bet on either.
Ok, enough already. I'm going to bed. And tomorrow's another day.

Friday, May 16, 2003

You never...

Jack is in the garden,
Jill is on her own,
There's a tree on a hill,
And there's a storm.
Tree on a hill,
Blowing down, blowing down.
The boys are in the pool hall,
They sing a song,
It's Mack the Knife.
And all the misconceptions,
Are the whirling wind,
All the misquotations,
Are the whirling wind,
They sing,
Yes, yes,
Good deeds are like dirty rags now.

I don't want to be president,
I don't want to be anything,
I just want to be in one piece.

It's an eye for an eye,
Oh let go,
I don't want to hurt you but,
I know it's bad,
And sometimes it's good to be bad.
Let the stupid people wait,
Because they've locked that great gate now,
Good deeds are like dirty rags.

I know she waits,
Breath held for him,
Hands trembling,
I know she waits there.
I know she'll be,
Gone soon from me,
I know she'll be,
What can I do now?
I know she's there,
Train comes for her,
Breath held for him,
What can I do now?
I know she'll be,
Gone soon from me,
I know she'll be,
What can I do?

Yes now, yes now,
Good deeds are like dirt,
Yes now, what can I do,
Good deeds are like dirty rags.

Mother don't be angry,
Mother don't be sad,
It's not your fault I turned out this way,
It's just when they make me feel small,
It's like a red rag to a bull,
And when they make me feel small,
Dirty rags, dirty rags.

How many wise men does it take,
To bring three gifts,
Do you know, do you know,
How many wise men did it take,
To bring three gifts,
You don't know, you don't know,
Mother don't be angry,
It's just another dying,
Now good deeds are like dirty rags,
Mother don't be angry,
Mother don't be sad.

Don't preach to me,
Don't preach to me,
Now good deeds are like dirty rags,
Filthy tongues say,
What have you done today,
Today, today, today.

Rhino is a coming,
Rhino is a coming,
Ostrich got his head in the sand,
When my bed smells,
Of too many eyed girls,
Ostrich got his head in the sand,
Good golly, Miss Molly,
You sure like to ball,
You sure like to ball.

Train, train, train,
Coming round the bend,
Took my baby,
But you never will again.

Saturday, May 10, 2003

Following my remarkable gambling success of last weekend, where Khulood carried my cash all the way to 19th place (out of 19 runners) in the 1000 Guineas, I fled to Wales this week, where I found myself betting on a horse in the middle of the Brecon Beacons. If a horse can stand on the tarmac outside a restaurant for over half an hour without moving a muscle, it seems reasonable to bet a friend a tenner that it's stuffed. Well I thought so anyway. Of course, within 10 seconds of shaking on the deal, the horse strolled off. Which just goes to show you don't always get your money back when you bet on a non-runner.

Thursday, May 01, 2003

Democracy is clearly a young person's game these days. The elderly have been replaced by young men in suits. And to think I wore my Versace jeans specially. I feel so let down. I was instructed to vote for two candidates, whereupon I looked at the ballot sheet and found there were only three people standing. I suggested that maybe we could save time by instructing everyone to vote for the one candidate they DON'T want. That went down about as well as my asking if I could vote for the same candidate twice.
I'm just off to exercise my democratic right. (No, I don't have a dog called 'Democratic Right', I mean I'm off to vote in the local elections. I do have a dog called Silk Cut, but he died of cancer, so I take him out for a drag every night.)

What was I talking about..? Oh yes, voting. It will inevitably involve some cheesing of old ladies, but cheesing of old ladies is what I do best. Which reminds me, I'm going to Wales on Sunday...