Bicycles and Things

So, as I know lots and lots of people who live in this Cyclist Town, I thought I would post a link to an excellent and most worthwhile website.

http://www.velochocolate.co.uk/

Particularly good if you enjoy supporting small new businesses run by lovely people, instead of big money-grabbing companies. Watch that space for even more lovely things for bicycles. I am trying to persuade the Commander in Chief (that would be Sam) to order some zebra print panniers, and I think he might just do it...

It didn't give the capacity in the bloody manual, either.

My car ran out of screen wash last week and yesterday I bought a 500ml, £1.49 bottle of concentrate from Halfords.It said 1 part screen wash to 20 parts water. So I made it up.

Turns out, the capacity of my screen wash tank is really quite small. I now have a bucket of 15 litres of screen wash sitting in my back yard and a week to get rid of it before the cleaners need the bucket for mopping the floor.

That's a lot of screen wash.

I could have done what my housemate did and pour the whole bottle into the tank and then top it up with water, but when she did that, nothing but foam came out of her squishers* for months.

*well, what are they called then?

This time next year, Rodney...

So, I've got a phone glued to my ear listening to a pointless seminar about entrepreneurship. I'm not sure why - it sounded like a good idea at the time. And if I sit it out to the end, I get to try a psychometric worth $100. Hurrah. Really, I don't care what it says, but if I do, I can swap notes with a man I'm trying to sell our one to and hopefully he'll like me, because apparently, people only buy from people they like. According to his seminar, that is.

However, I nearly just fell off my chair when I heard the last part. Apparently, every good entrepreneur knows the best and fastest route to wealth is to redefine what money is and what you see as enough.

I have decided that the National Currency of Kate is socks. In those terms, I am a millionaire.

BANG BANG BANG!?

Really. I thought ebay was a doddle until recently. Firstly, ebay won't let me update my address, which I don't realise until some woman doesn't turn up for a pickup and emails me to complain that I wasn't at home. Of course I wasn't, I haven't lived there in three years. I did attempt to change it, honestly. And then I tried again after the event, and it still won't let me.

Then, I get a snotty email from a man who made it to the right house, because I happened to be switched on that day and include the address in my confirmation of pickup time/date email, but who failed to make his presence known, despite a huge feck-off door knocker. And three people in the house. And the front door being partly open for the whole morning, while I was going in and out to a van. Parked directly outside the house. And his next communication? An email saying that he made it to the house, but that there couldn't possibly be anyone in because the front blinds were closed.

Perhaps he he felt, in his infinite wisdom, that there would be absolutely nothing to be gained by utilising the doorknocker, in the time-honoured tradition of those wanting to find out if there's anyone in the house because (and I completely sympathise) there couldn't possibly be anyone in because the blinds were closed? Perhaps in the past he's wasted God only knows how much of his life fruitlessly knocking on doors that cannot possibly be answered, because there is no physical way that anyone can be in, because the front blinds are closed.

You know, I bet that's what's behind our nation's lack of productivity, compared to the rest of the world. I bet it's the time we waste knocking doors.

New Year's Resolutions.

1. Worry less.
2. Spend more money (or at least, worry less about getting into debt for things I actually want to do)
3. Take all the musical stuff I keep meaning to do more seriously.

So last week, I signed up for a £568 year-long music course, which I have hitherto been too frightened to do. Tick, tick, tick. Hurrah!

In other news, I was almost flattered today when the 23 year old office totty (who is leaving, unfortunately) told me that if he was unattached and didn't think that I'd benefit from someone more mature, he'd love to whisk me away... It took me a few seconds to realise that he'd basically said that if I wasn't quite as far past it as I am, and he didn't have a young 'un already, I'd do. Cheers.

Christmas In Our House.

1. Wake Up.
2. Realise it is 5am. Know that no one is going to let you anywhere near your presents yet so attempt to go back to sleep.
3. Fail in attempt to go back to sleep. Sit up and investigate contents of stocking, all of which are wrapped. Know that you will be bo**ocked by the parentals if you open any yet (even at the age of 27 26) so shake everything vigorously and make wild guesses at what it might be, knowing full well it is a pair of novelty socks, some orange and lemon slices and some form of unidentifiable bath sludge, and probably some brussels sprouts, which is what naughty children get. Oh parentals, you are hilarious. Really.
4. Finally get to acceptable getting up time. Make a lot of noise in visiting the bathroom just to make sure everyone else is awake too.
5. Secretly meet with sister to check that she has no more stocking items than you do. Conspire with sister to get rest of house up.
6. Get fed up waiting for parentals and grandparental to get up, so get them up under pretence of bringing them a cup of tea.
7. Feed parentals and grandparental fourth cup of tea and insist that they really must get up as they are wasting the best part of the day.
8. Use bathroom while parentals and grandparental faff about deciding who is going to use the bathroom first.
9. Family gathering in kitchen for umpteenth cup of tea and Christmas Breakfast of Luxury Chocolate Biscuits. Feel somewhat queasy after consuming most of box.
10. Finally family are all ready. Sit in traditional places in living room. Try to calm sister down when she throws a spaz at being made to sit on the floor because she's the youngest and there aren't enough seats.
11. Try to calm sister down when she throws a spaz at once again being charged with dishing out presents under the tree. Fail to understand why she has not yet accepted that as the youngest, this will be her duty for the rest of her life (or at least until she is older than me which at current calculations will be three years. Hurrah).
12. Hide smallest present behind back, in preparation for ridiculous yearly competition to see who can open the last one.
13. Open presents. Put on novelty socks. Eat orange & lemon slices. Try to prevent grandparental from putting on his new "Fred Dibnah - Classic Buildings of the Industrial Age" DVD.
14.Crack open Harvey's Bristol Cream. Share a toast with Mum. Lock self in kitchen with Mum on pretence of helping cook the meal, but really just drink more sherry and "supervise" while Mum does it.
15. Pull crackers. Wear silly hat. Eat a mega-amount of food, washed down with gallons of red wine. Try to prevent Dad sticking the cork up his nose for comedy value. Try to persuade him there is little comedy value left in this 30-year old gag. Fail.
16. Watch ridiculous amount of crap Christmas telly. Wish it was 1973 and that Morecombe and Wise were still on. Boycott The Queen's Speech. Eat own bodyweight in twiglets. Fight with entire family over custody of twiglet pot.
17. Watch all other family members fall asleep. Curse the fact that you are generally an insomniac at the best of times. Eat entire contents of second pot of twiglets and half a chocolate orange while watching whichever Terry Pratchett/Harry Potter/CS Lewis dramatisation they are showing this year. Feel sick.
18. Decide it's time someone made the tea. Wake Mum up. Receive smack, which I am apparently not too big for.
19. Apologise to Mum for waking her up. Make seventeen rounds of ham sandwiches, cut up several pork pies, make a vast pot of tea and sit down with the entire bowl of sherry trifle. And a spoon.
20. Start on the gin with sister. Get somewhat squiffy. Decide to see if we can still remember all the words to "Under the Sea" from Disney's "The Little Mermaid". Argue with sister over who gets to be Sebastian the Crab.
21. Get squiffier still. Get all nostalgic with sister and start to discuss how much better Christmasses were when we had a full complement of grandparentals. Start to cry.
22. Run out of gin (good job too). Get engrossed in James Bond. Fail to understand plot of James Bond. Irritate Dad by repeatedly asking plot-related questions, and stating how ridiculously unfeasable 90% of it is.
23. Realise it's almost midnight and that everyone over 30 is asleep. Share washing up with Jenfer, like good kids. Retire to bed, thankful that the whole bloody thing is over and won't have to be repeated for 12 months.

I love Christmas.

One of my housemates has rather rudely obtained a new job in Zurich which leaves me in a bit of a situation 'cause it means that me and t'other have got to find a new one. In our 'ouse, the rule is that the departing housemate has to advertise and line up some candidates, but is liable for the rent until they find one the remaining candidates like. Which is a new experience for me, because I've always been the interviewee before, and actually I think I prefer it that way. It's a nightmare coming up with sensible questions, I just can't think of any. And asking m'colleague & friend* Little Sunbeam elicited the following, highly sensible responses.

• If you were a flavour of crisps, what flavour would you be, and why?
  
• The first Sunday of the month is Naked Sunday at our house. It's no problem for you to still have people over, as long as they know nudity is mandatory. Ok?
  
• We're trying to make a House Tapestry, so really we want someone who'd be interested in contributing to that. How are your embroidery skills, or are you more of a knitter, would you say?
  
• Some of my taxidermy collection are normally kept in the room. You won't mind that will you?
  
• Are you okay with a generic underwear pile?
  
• We're trying to reduce our water footprint. You don't mind sharing baths and showers, do you?
  
• We're Seventh Day Advent Hoppists, so all day Sunday has to be spent on one leg. We're not devout, so we don't actually make you hop all day, of course. Do you have any hip or knee issues?

Silly silly silly.

Anyhow, we saw two yesterday, neither of which were right for the role I feel. One was a girl, so she's out**. The other one seemed nice enough but there was just something not quite right with the fit. So he was out too. Three more on Thursday. Ho hum.

In other news, it seems that at work I am the Staff Liason woman from Green Wing. “Key member of the team, no. Scatterbrained floozy, yes”:

*Perhaps partner in comedy-crime might be more appropriate.
**As m'colleague & friend Little Sunbeam pointed out, I'm currently House Goddess. Why would I want to jepordise that? Are they likely to make Raspberry Crumble and share it out? I think not! Plus, I get all the space in the bathroom. Who wants to give that up?

Eating Robot Goldfish?

If I'm going to get through this Christmas, I'm going to have to tighten the belt a bit (not unlike 60-odd million other people in this country). There are lots of things going on that I want to go to like a celidh, thanksgiving dinners, several more music-related things, ice-dodgems, a posh-frocks do, work leaving dos (honestly, who leaves at Christmas?) and undoubtedly several more festive outings, not to mention 4 new tyres and three new teeth*. Unfortunately I keep forgetting that I don't have an inexhaustible supply of cash, and that I'm going to have to learn to say no to the question "Pub?"

On top of that there's the fact that the Christmas money given to my by the parentals this year will undoubtedly go on petrol for getting to where Christmas is going to be held, at the Grandparentals in Bristol. Still, Jenfer and I are now at the age where (I think) the petty squabbling and bickering is all over so we might at least be able to escape to a pub** for a bit. And it only took us until we were 24and 27 26***

*Well, not exactly. Fillings. But that's what you get for not going to the dentist in almost a decade. Fool.
**There's that word again.
***She'll be overtaking me in two years. Hurrah.

Try sticking it up your nose.

I have (almost) cracked the key to creativity I think. It's no good sitting down with a pen and a piece of paper and thinking "Right. I am now going to be creative and draw a picture/write a song/come up with an idea". That's just silly. You have to wait for it to smack you in the chops.

Now, not that I've been terribly creative recently, but it seems that if you just sit down with a guitar and just arse about, all this stuff just starts to happen. Like new chords. And little fiddly bits. I'm not saying they are any good, mind, but hey - I've only just started at this creativity stuff. They're better than nowt. This proves what I have always thought - that arsing about is actually very, very important.

Another peculiar thing that has been happening recently is that as I'm drifting off to sleep in that waking-dream stage, I seem to be coming up with tunes in my head, and they are actually quite good. Problem is, when I wake up in the morning they aren't there any more.

I've tried downloading them to my ipod but the cable keeps falling out of my ear.

Can't *quite* pick up Radio Luxembourg.

I'm not quite sure who looked sadder at the checkout in Morrisons on this chilly Friday evening. The bloke in front of me, with his microwave meal for one, three man-size bars of Galaxy and a two-pint bottle of strawberry flavoured milk, or me, with a packed of Bettabuy spaghetti, a bottle of cheap Merlot and 4 AAA batteries.

For your inforMAYtion, the BATTeries are for the RAYdio in the BATHroom, okay?

Don't Panic.

Due to my extremely delicate nature, and a recent bout of insomnia (yet again) I seem to have become very sensitive to light. This is of course my own fault, as while I was in the middle of the aformentioned sleeplessness, I decided it'd be a good idea to go all the way around my curtains gaffer-taping them to the wall to keep the daylight out. Now of course there is little daylight at getting-up-time anyway, I'm sleeping right up until the alarm goes off whereupon I leap to my feet shouting "WHAT? It can't be that time already!? It's clearly still the middle of the night!!" Of course, it might help if I didn't stay up until stupid o'clock every night looking for new folk songs on the all-knowing-tinterweb. Yawn.

Speaking of alarm clocks, I was explaining neuroticism, in my view, to a friend who doesn't suffer from this frustrating and debilitating condition. He's writing a piece of comedy about someone who is neurotic, and is (obviously) using me as an example.* His view was that someone neurotic would have one, massive, really really big and loud alarm clock.

No, no, no.

Someone neurotic has three perfectly normal alarm clocks, all set to go off within five minutes of each other. What if the first one doesn't go off? Or when you hit the snooze button on the first one, you accidently turns it off and fall asleep again? What if you were to sleep through alarm clock one and the batteries went in alarm clock two? The potential disasters that might follow an alarm clock failure just don't bear thinking about.

Someone neurotic also has their hair straighteners permanently plugged in to a timer switch so that if they forget to turn them off, the house doesn't burn down. Housemates are on speed dial one and two so that they can be contacted easily on the way to work to check that the front door has been shut properly.

Is a neurotic person's underwear colour coded? No, no and thrice no. That, I think, is more OCD. Neurotic is having all your underwear just shoved in a drawer, but having an emergency back-up pair of knickers secreted somewhere easily accessible in the house. Just in case, like.

You see? You just have to think neurotically.

*Why is it that people seem to make an example of me all the time?

My First Conversation In America.

Me: A butternut crunch donut please, and a cappuccino.
Him: What size cappuccino?
Me: Small please.
Him: Uh... the smallest we have is a Medium.

Is it me? Is it?

What Day Is It?

Septober.

Oh, right.

Folk Fortnight

Well, it's that time of year again, when I put my sandals on top of my socks, grow a beard and start smoking a pipe. Yes, it's Folk Festival season, and this year I am the lucky holder of two, thats' TWO full weekend festival tickets, which are worth a fortune on ebay. I tell you, it's taking a lot of willpower not to trade them in for... well, for cash. But I am so looking forward to going that I couldn't possibly. No, not for a King's Ransom.

It's just such a bloody shame the weather is so pants. Ho hum - at least this year I am the proud owner of some Pirate Wellies. No wet shoes and trousers for me!*

The week after that though is possibly even MORE exciting**. I am going to Folk School! There's a house thing, like one of those outward bound places (anyone remember Yenworthy?) near here where once a year they do a week long residential course in your chosen instrument in a folk stylee. I can't wait although I am nervous as hell, and I have only just started learning the course tune, "Shove The Pig's Foot A Little Further In The Fire"***. I am hoping it's going to do summat for my performance anxiety, as the list of people who keep moaning at me to just bloody get over it is getting longer and longer. I have at least one person who has threatened to beat me back there if I chicken out after the first day. Ho hum.

Other News
In other news, I no longer have any pairs of jeans at all where the zips work, so they are all held up by putting a safety pin through the hole in the zip handle thing**** and hooking it over the top of the button. Sadly I keep forgetting this when undoing my jeans to go to the toilet and at least three times now I have pricked myself in the lady garden on doing them back up again.

In more other news, I am almost a published recording artiste. My housemate has been recording an album for-EVER and last week I was pulled in at short notice to do utterly essential backing vocals, without which the album would surely be a flop. Rah.

*I'm not sure what's more annoying - having wet feet, or having wet trousers where they're a tad too long and soak puddles right the way up to your knee. Eugh.
**If that's possible.
***What?
****What *is* that called?

Bloody well serves me right.

SYM invited me to go punting at the weekend so I had an excuse to practice on my new two-wheeled vehicular transport tool. A bi-cycle, if you will.

So I had to go and meet the crew by the punts on the river, which involves riding along the touristiest street in town. Which, as you can imagine, is packed out when the weather is nice. Recently the council have brought in rickshaws in an attempt to be greener and so on... so, there are a line of rickshaws lined up, driven by sufer-dude type chaps, one of whom is quite attractive and starts checking me out (I think) as I'm weaving through the people.* So anyway, I stare back as I pass...

...and nearly run over a small child. Cue mirth and hilarity amongst the rickshaw crew, and terminal embarrassment for me. What a divvy.

*I should probably have got off my bike, but I was practicing.

Dumb Photo Of The Day

I wonder how much they want for the sign. And I wonder if they throw the rickety old shed in for free?

"...tied up with a Black Velvet Band..."

I cannot be miserable about anything today, even with the weather as it is, as I have coloured my hair a dark chocolate colour and a nice young man told me that it made my eyes look a lovely deep green. *Giggle*.

Still, I suppose it's at least a better take on the "you've got lovely eyes" line, which can usually be foiled by closing them and asking what colour they are. You've got to get up pretty early in the morning to get past me, fellas.

Mostly because I sleep nearest the door.

Recipe for Oatcakes with Mandarins and Ice Cream.

1. Get oatcake. Warm in toaster, oven or microwave. Do not burn.
2. Get tin of mandarins. Open tin. Cut finger. Wash finger and apply plaster. Re-warm now cool oatcake.
3. Spoon mandarins over oatcake. Spill mandarins over worktop. Flick mandarins off worktop back on to oatcake and hope no one will notice.
4. Get ice cream from freezer. Struggle with lid. Remove lid. Swear at ice cream for being too hard. Swear at freezer for being too cold. Using knife, carefully cut off tiny chunks of ice cream and put over oatcake.
5. Eat before ice cream melts.
6. Return to kitchen. Swear at self for forgetting to put ice cream back in freezer. Eat remaining mandarins with ice cream soup.

"Skypalons"

A new word, created today. It means "something which breaks all the bloody time but that no one seems to be able to do anything about."

It is a combination of two words, "skype", the name of the popular voice-over IP service, and "pantalons", a derivation of the word "pants", meaning "rubbish".

I wish Jenfer would write something on her blog. This has been her most recent post for ages.

The fact that it's great is no excuse.

Elusive Hornpipe/Lady's Fancy/Time's Up

There is an abundance of men on this planet who either don't LISTEN when I tell them something or don't think I MEAN it.

Sooner or later, they find out that they are WRONG.

How To Buy A Bicycle

If you click on it I think it will make it bigger. Or possibly not.

Outbreak of Corporate Imbecility & Incompetence

Case Study 1: Workplace Health Connect

Me: Hello, is that Workplace Health Connect?
Maureen (chirpily): Yes, we are the new government initiative designed to help small businesses with all aspects of Health & Safety. How can I help?
Me: I've been writing some policies for my company recently regarding Health & Safety and I wondered if you could take a look at them to make sure they are sound?
Maureen: What's your postcode?
Me: (supplies postcode)
Maureen: I'm sorry, you're out of our visit range.
Me: That's okay, could I perhaps email them to someone instead?
Maureen: No, I'm sorry, we don't offer support via email.
Me: Oh.
Maureen: Could I trouble you with a marketing question?
Me: Of course
Maureen: On a scale of 1 to 5, where one is Very Dissatisfied and 5 is Very Satisfied, how satisfied are you with the help you've received from Workplace Health Connect today?


Case Study 2: Legal & General

Promotional Literature: To increase your monthly contributions, call 0800 what-ever between 8am and 8pm Monday to Friday, or 9am and 5pm Saturday and Sunday.

9am Saturday Morning
Me: Hello, is that Legal and General?
Her: Yes, but the office you've called is closed.
Me: What time does it open?
Her: 9,30am.
Me: Thank you, I'll call back.
[click]

9.30 am Saturday Morning
Me: Hello, is that Legal and General?
Her: Yes, but the office you've called is closed.
Me: What time does it open?
Her: 10.00am.
Me: Thank you, I'll call back.
[click]

10am Saturday Morning
Me: Hello, is that Legal and General?
Him: Yes, but the office you've called is closed.
Me: What time does it open?
Him: It's closed at the weekends.
Me: [Expletives Deleted]
[click]

Case Study 3: Budget Car Insurance.

"We are writing to you with regards to your car insurance renewal quote. Your quote for this year is £0.00.

If you choose to pay this by direct debit, this will be paid in 12 monthly instalments of £1.11.

To renew your car insurance, simply..."

Interesting Celery Fact No. 276

The Pagani Zonda F can be powered on pure celery juice, reacing speeds of up to 12 mph.

Shopping List

Mandolin
Hat (Pirate)
Wellingtons (Pink)
Bedspread
Holly-Day (anywhere will do)
Ipppod
Waste Paper Basket
New Tops
Haircut
Hook (Door, not Pirate)
Pencil Skirt
Neuro-Linguistic Programming

Interesting Celery Fact No. 384

If dropped in the middle of the ocean, a stick of celery can find its own way back to its country of birth.

A Capital Plan.

So the run up to Christmas was characterised by various drawbacks, including having my house sold from underneath me, finding a new one, passing the gruelling interview process and moving house...sans bed, unfortunately as it's an unfurnished room. All of which was done under severe impairment from a rather nasty virus, which lasted all in all about a month. Eugh.

Christmas this year was a bit of a non-starter, what with Dad ill, Grandad old, Jenifa in and out and me just lazy, so I think between the four of us we slept through most of it, apart from the bits where I was demonstrating my extremely dodgy violin skills and trying to persuade my Dad that it really is about time that he learned to play his banjo. Having said that, I really must come up with a Violin Progress Plan, as I've not dared touch it since I moved into the new place for fear of upsetting the nice new roomies. Rats. Did get a crackin' haul of presents though - top marks, family!

New bed was purchased on the way back from the folks' place. I didn't realise until it was pointed out, but it's actually a bit pirate captain-y. Not that I know what a pirate's bed would look like - a hammock, presumably, but it has given me a slight inclination to see if I can fill it with tacky nauticalia. Just for fun, like.

Stage fright issues have progressed in a negative vein, to the point where my throat closes up if I even *think* about public performance. I have now passed the point of being able to tackle it myself and might need to investigate in some form of neuro-linguistic programming or the like. Does anyone have Derren Brown's phone number?

What The Crazy American And I Did At Work Today

Tuesday Mornington Crescent

Me: King's Cross!
Him: Eeek.
Me: Yes, I used the Countess of Huntingdon's double switchback manouvre.
Him: Tricky move. I'm going to go for a backward shunt. Dollis Hill?
Me: Hmm.
Him: Now we're in the Dollis Hill Loop though.
Me: If I went Farringdon, would I be boxed?
Him: You'd be crossing the second diagonal. It's unusual, but not completely unprecendented.
Me: Well, I think I'll risk it. Farringdon.
Him: Yikes. To get anywhere from here will mean invoking the Kandinsky protocol. Are we playing Macclesfield rules?
Me: Well, I wasn't, but we haven't done anything so far that would prevent us starting now.
Him: Hmmmm. In that case?West Ruislip.
Me: Ouch.
Him: Sorry. You have to be ruthless to reach the highest levels. At least, that's what Sovold has always said.
Me: Yes, that was an uncompromising move.
Him: I laugh in the face of compromise.
Me: Well, if we're taking it to the next plane...Baker Street.
Him: Shit. Ummmm? It's Rushton's Gambit or nothing, isn't it? St John's Wood. I believe that means you're in spoon.
Me: Well, I only have two options.
Him: I'm on the edge of my seat, frankly.
Me: I can either play safe, or go completely off the wall and take a risk.
Him: It's the most crucial juncture so far...
Me: So I think...
Him: I don't like where this is going...
Me: I think it's going to have to be Harrow on the Hill.
Him: Hmmm. I don't like having to do this. Aldwych.
Me: Hah!Chiswick Park. Dangerous, I know.
Him: Aha! Ahahahha! Mornington Crescent!
Me: Shit.

"Her name is Lola, she's a rocker with a nose-ring..."

Having had about four late nights (for no particular reason) in a row, it seems that I am, once again, not at my best this morning, which I demonstrated by almost putting milk in my hot ribena. It took me 45 minutes to make a round of six coffees and even then I got most of them wrong.

Also, I happen to have about thirty reports to print and bind today. This is a simple and brainless task which I usually like to leave to the end of the day when my mind is wandering off whatever subject it ought to be thinking about, but last time I used the binder I trapped my fingers in it taking big chunks of flesh away and couldn't play the violin for three days.

Tiredness, however, does have it's uses. I knocked over a stack of CDs on my way out of the door and came accross "Kate's Junk CD No. 1" which is the first CD I ever burned (awwww), and it's got some dreadful stuff on it. So this morning the soundtrack to my drive to work was filled with Bowling for Soup, Guns n' Roses, Avril Lavigne, Alisha's Attic and even Transvision Vamp.

I love it.

"..but what it's for, I've not the least idea."

1. I Like Eddie Izzard But I Hate My Alarm Clock.

2. A Damn Shame I Missed The Deadline.

3. My Fingers Are Not Green But Then Neither Are These (And They Taste Good).

4. I Have Lost My Guitar Tuner, Oh No, There It Is.

5. I Used To Send These When I Was At School*

6. Some People Have Too Much Time On Their Hands.

7. Everyone Knows This One Anyway.

8. Q: How do you make a cigarette lighter?A: You take out all the tobacco.

9. Ooh, I Feel A Bit Off Colour, Perhaps I Should Eat Something Healthy.

10. Only Click Here If You Are A Big Geek.

*giggle.