Bear blog

A couple of weeks ago, due to honest Christian family values and a latent desire for a bit of one-upmanship, my niece got christened. And due to my natural, unaffected love for her I dressed up like a girl n'that. 

But it was alright cause so did everyone else. Including Reb. They got her all trussed up like Little Bo Peep when really you could tell she wanted to be rolling around in the mud and eating pocket fluff. She was very good about the whole thing though.

The priest was a fantastic doddery old man with no sense of occasion. We piled into the church and got comfy (apparently you're not supposed to put your feet on those floor cushion thingies) and whilst we were waiting for a bit of music to start or for someone to clear their throat and ask everyone to turn to page 9, the priest sauntered out to the front and started chatting in a mumbly, rambling sort of fashion. So we sort of carried on chatting, thinking he was going to start the ceremony in a minute. Any minute now...or maybe not. Cause then he started pointing out all the Jesus paraphanalia he had around the place. There was a big bastard candle, which symbolised something or other. A glass of water with a napkin over the top of it for splashing purposes. And some essential oils.

Not called oil though. No. Called Chrism.

As in the jism of Christ. Fantastic. My niece (who incidentally, should be very bloody grateful that her mother loves her enough to step in half way through the ceremony to inform the priest that her name was Rebecca and not, in fact, Vanessa) has been annointed in Jesus' name and all that and will not be going to purgatory on the basis of having been rubbed with Christ's willy juice.

I couldn't have wished for more, really. But then we went to a fancy pub and I met four beautiful cuddly dog-dogs (who Barnesy would have loved) and ate poncy fish and chips from the buffet and sat outside while everyone did the family socialising thing.

What a lovely day. 

Right then.

I have several hundred books that need to be out of my house by July. Mother is having two bags full, Rod has kindly agreed to take a mystery box. Who else wants any?

Ask me for specific titles or give me a genre or two and I can do you a mystery box. I'll be working on getting them to you through juggle mail if you're not in Leicester.

They're all in good nick and I'm not asking for money. Just please take them away.

[Edit] If you're still living in the stone age the same also applies for a hundred or so VHS tapes.

I heard somewhere that if you swallowed enough of your own blood you'd get poorly.

So if you syphoned some off and made black pudding out of it would that still make you ill?

Lying in bed last night, wedged between a snoring husband and a snoring cat, I decided that physics isn't my forte. I don't understand where the light goes when you turn the switch off. I don't get why vacuums are possible. I don't know what dark matter is.

I've tried asking people, but they all use long words and just confuse me further. And as such, I've decided that it will be easier in the long run to create my own science. Thusly, Clurb's First Physical Law of the Universe is this:

Squares are always more dense than triangles.