I managed to dispel one of those stupid superstitions/myths whilst cycling to work this morning. Having put all my strength and effort into getting to the top of the steepest and most unforgiving of hills that unfortunately blights my route to work, I made it onto the high street, shorter of breath but essentially in fairly good shape.

There I was, contemplating to myself as to how many people actually make it to the top without dismounting and walking the remainder and furthermore, calculating the possible percentage of people that might have even had cause to have tackled it on foot when suddenly; from out of nowhere I was rectally dive-bombed by one of our little feathered "friends".

The little bugger was a canny shot too and the smell released when the shit hit its target was quite ghastly. "FUCK!" I exclaimed most vociferously (particularly vociferously as it was only 7.15am)  leading the few people in the vicinity to presume that I was some kind of cycling tourettes sufferer, bandying profanity hither and thither, thanks to my seemingly unnecessary outburst.

Inevitably, as the mind does, I began to consider exactly what is so lucky about being shit on by a bird. I should clarify, it wasn't a dead shot and I personally remained unsullied, but it did manage to hit the handlebars of my bicycle. So there it was in its runny, feculent glory, staring at me with all its fresh brazenness.

Was it lucky that it hit the handlebar as opposed to my hand? Better yet, it could have hit my head and I may have been forced to wash my hair that has remained shampoo free for twenty six days. Was that lucky? I certainly thought that it was lucky it landed an inch to the left of my gear's grip-shift handle because the thought of having to change gear whilst smearing my hand through the runny gunge did not appeal.

These thoughts were quickly put to one side as I approached my junction to make a right turn, having sensed the ominous rumble of the fuel tanker roaring up behind me. I pulled over at the roadside to let the impatient juggernaut past, I waited until all traffic had passed safely by, manoeuvred myself into the middle of the road and signalled my intention to turn right, only for the driver at the junction to attempt to turn me into some kind of fancy trophy for his car's bonnet.

I know it was first thing in the morning and that perhaps his reactions were slow as a result but believe me, I tend to find the brake a more useful instrument to employ when attempting to prevent early morning carnage rather than the accelerator (I believe the phrase might be adding injury to idiocy or something like that at any rate).

So, in conclusion then, being shit on by a bird isn't even remotely lucky, it's just unpleasant and some ignorant fuckers shouldn't be allowed behind the wheel.

Ladies & Gent, I thank you for your time.       

Bless my greasy heed! Seven days in and still not the faintest drop of shampoo has touched my scalp. What's that? "Scruff!" I hear you cry? Well that's as well as may be and you're entitled to your opinions, but I reserve the right to conduct hairxperiments under my own steam.

I'm sure you've heard that your hair can wash itself. I recently heard an enthusiastic strumpet ruminating on the merits of (self washing hair) on the radio. This plucked at my intrigue glands, being an armchair eco-warrior I figured I could enjoy saving the planet whilst simultaneously neglecting my follicles.

Last Thursday I purposely had my barnet sharpened. I figured that the shorter my hair, the less conspicuous my lank locks would appear. So far this has proved successful. Currently my hair looks like it has simply been adorned with hair slap. I suspect eventually, I may begin lying to people and stating that I've started using Brylcreem as a means to excuse the greasiness of my bonce.

It must be difficult in these times of cynicism and apathy for media outlets to actually catch people out with "unusual news stories". However, this morning, before leaving the house I caught an article on BBC news, seemingly an advertisement for a new documentary.

Well done to them, because dressing it up with some plausible geography and "this recently discovered colony of penguins is unlike any other" had the missus hook, line and sinker. There was an "Aaaah" and then an actual gasp of astonishment as they began to take off.

One quick look at my watch to confirm the date and a brief shaking of my head in her general direction was all it took to let her know she’d been April fooled.

I despair, I really do.

I also liked BMWs War on Dog Wee

And White Guinness - One Day Only

Although unfortunately I’ve only been able to find The Aussie version for display porpoises.

What April fool stories amused you today then?

Well hurrah! The miserable veil of Weatherly gloom that has encapsulated this cursed rock for the past week or so has finally lifted. I guess it was inevitable that the four seasons in five minutes band of weather would hit us in time for the bank holiday last weekend. It resulted in my being firmly shackled to the homestead and becoming desperately close to getting cabin fever.

This morning however, I was greeted with glorious rays of golden sunshine and this has put me in a distinctly chipper mood... chipper? Now there’s a word I have never ever felt cause to describe myself. Not because I’m an insufferably miserable fucker you understand, but because chipper is a frightfully twee word and not one that I’ve ever let into my own personal lexicon. A shite with it! Hell, I feel so good I’m even gonna stick it down as my current mood when I finish rattling these keys.

So what then is the reason (besides actual sunlight) behind my current bout of levity? Well, I feel terrible to admit to it but simply, it is having been freed from the parental manacles for a couple of days. Yes, we shipped out dear Olivia to her Granny’s on Thursday night and have been child free since then.

Well, wouldn’t you want rid of this?

It has been wonderfully liberating to just look after only myself. A little too much as I’ve done bugger all but veg out, watching shit TV, web browsing and precious little else. It would have been nice to have actually gone out for a meal or something coupley like that with the misses but financial strangulation and pay day not arriving until Monday has put paid to that. So we’ve basically spazzed the past two days just slobbing about, save for the nuisance of having to turn into work yesterday.

Of course, the slobbing had to be brought to an end this morning, and, feeling rather buoyed by all the chipperiness, I felt industrious enough to tackle the shit tip we had allowed our home to become. The missus had a lie in.

Freed from Olivia, I have been free from the usual guilt of doing household chores whilst she hovers about pleading for attention. It’s not that I spend most of my time ignoring her, in fact it’s probably the opposite, I possibly even give her too much time. I seem to recall spending much more of my time at grandparent’s houses when I was her age, largely being left to my own devices whilst Granda was at the pub and grandma spent the afternoon watching Pebble Mill and the horse racing. 

Of course, it wasn’t like that all the time but I can remember vast swathes of boredom that were very rarely ever resolved by a parent of any description taking much time to sit down and play with me. This fact however, doesn’t diminish my own guilt when requests are made to make animals with play dough, paint pictures or go outside in the freezing cold to push her on her swing… I’d have given anything for a swing of my own at her age.

So as pathetic as it may sound, I have rather enjoyed the liberating experience of tackling housework unhindered by the demands of a pushy ginger child. I even took the opportunity to get out for an early morning cycle in the wonderfully pleasant morning sunshine (incalculably better than the forays in cycling to work in early February). And yes, it was pleasant, I decided to keep it to a restrained 10 miler rather than go daft and break myself. On my circuit I was passed by four serious cyclists draped in uncommonly tight cycling apparel, they bade me "Good morning" as they trundled by with almost offensive ease. As I had not yet the engine to even contemplate keeping up with those fellows I accepted the "humiliating defeat" and consoled myself with the thought that, as fellow cyclists, they were probably just impressed with me for getting out there and doing it (Yeah, right!).

Very Berry Paulio

I guess I must have pushed myself a little more than I had thought because I was greeted by a cheeky chuckle from my sloth-like missus due to my beetrooted  facial complexion. I’m sure you’ll all agree, I look grrrrreat.

Anyhoo, that’s probably enough prattle for now. I have a 50th Wedding Anniversary party to primp myself for. Have a great weekend everybody, I already am.

Greetings fair citizens of MySpace.

Rather fabulously I am to enjoy an afternoon of peace thanks to getting a half day off from work due to it being Maundy Thursday. Huzzah, I knew there’d be a plus to being a government stooge somewhere along the line.

So, what am I doing pissing about on here instead of being out there, enjoying all that life has to offer? Well, that’s simple, it’s an absolutely piss miserable afternoon and I am still to collect the child from nursery later so hitting the pubs and getting all boozed up is a no no. Besides of which, I have a day on the peeve to look forward to tomorrow with the old hometown crowd. Huzzah indeed!

Okay, down to bidnezz. I’m sure by now I’ve successfully bored everybody and anybody about the fact that I am banned from accessing MySpace during working hours. This of course is very much to my chagrin. As I have hit my limit on flexi-hours I have found myself at a loose end each lunch hour, for which I have to take as a full hour or end up working for free... I am, despite appearances not that much of a mug.

So to tackle my boredom, I have sought solace in good ol’ Auntie Beeb and her lovely websidence. Thankfully, the government have not yet seen fit to keep us from the content of our State owned corporation’s web portal as that may well be considered overstepping a certain mark. Sadly, I am not yet brave enough to see if the rather marvelous i-Player will function on my works PC, so I am left to simply trawl the news, sports and entertainment sections and indulge in a bit of good old fashioned eye gathering informationalising.

It serves a purpose and kills some time, with the added bonus of me not ending up being threatened with the sack, so everyone’s a winner there then right? One particular area I have begun to enjoy is the Talking Point section. Basically it is a one line question posed to the readers in which they can chip in their two cents on the topical discussions of the day. I find it provides an interesting snapshot into the mind of middle Britain and sometimes it can be quite entertaining when slanging matches crop up (all in the most respectable taste of course).

One of yesterday’s topic was "Are you feeling the impact of the credit crunch?" and whilst the world and his wife may well have exhausted this particular subject in recent weeks, I thought I may as well use my personal forum to stick in my own two pen’orth.

Firstly, I simply cannot believe that no one saw this coming. We’ve had over a decade or so of continual growth and economic stability. But as the old adage goes, what goes up, must come down. We’d never had in so good, interest rates were so low for so long that people initially went a bit crazy and were spending well above their means.

The economy was "booming" or so we were told, but surely anyone with an ounce of sense knew that this was entirely a false economy. Mostly everything that was propping up the economy was being paid for on the never never. People and their aspirations, armed to the teeth with the required plastic to help financially stitch themselves up good and proper. Of course over the past couple of years we’ve seen the vulture’s circling with their debt consolidation companies, grubbily rubbing their hands waiting for the financially incompetent to stagger into their clutches.

I have little pity for those people stupid enough that to continue to live permanently beyond their means. Largely because I am bitter that a lot of those fuckers have had great holidays and surrounded themselves by all sorts of unnecessary tat and quite a lot of it ends up getting underwritten and paid for by tax payers.

I feel genuinely sorry for those people who have in recent years had to overstretch themselves just to get a place on the overinflated housing market . With fuel bills and the cost of living seemingly on an unending incline, it is these people that will suffer the most.

However, the people that have recklessly borrowed against the equity in their property, in aid of vacuous pursuits, causing house prices to rise further and further ought to be rounded up, put in stocks and pelted with rotten veg, eggs, flour, gutter scrapings, offal, old bits of carpet, weasel giblets and baby bird corpses...

Yeah, I’m sorry, I bored myself with this one too... can you tell?