I had two great Eureka moments tonight whilst buttering an oatcake.
1 – Lifehack: See this spoon?
The corner of the (empty) fag packet is shown for relative size and isn’t a weird “serving suggestion”. The presence of my foot, intruding into the bottom right of the picture and the empty HRT packet at 1 o’clock bear no relevance either, and are merely indicative of my shit photography skills.
Look at the spoon. The handles of this cutlery set (Tesco) to which this spoon belongs is perfectly cylindrical. Its cylindricality if that’s a word and the fact that it appears to be coated in some NASA developed slippyslidy nano-material render it impossible to hold. Every damn time I use one I’m left wondering if my hand has somehow turned back to front. So, in a fantastic bit of lateral thinking; I’ve decided to launch my own diet cutlery range. Behold the diet-o-spoon! The use of the diet-o-spoon results in only half the foodstuff actually making it to the mouth of the rotund user. The tagline for this wonderful piece of entrepreneurial brilliance on my part is “There’s many a slip twixt spoon and lip with the diet-o-spoon!” I’m applying for Dragons’ Den.
My second Eureka moment – which coincidentally is NUMBER 2…
2 – Bowel trouble? Struggling to “go”? Eat dog food! Why’s no-one thought of that before? Dogs eat dog food and they appear to have NO BOWEL TROUBLES WHATSOEVER, do they? They can more or less go on command.
I’m a bloody genius.
In a sentence that’s in no way related to number 2 above, (BOOM! A triple entendre!) I’ve spent the last hour clearing up my inbox. Inspired by this wonderful blog post by my friend Eileen I decided to start with a virtual clear out, so I’m deleting like a madwoman and unsubscribing from all the emails with their tempting offers. I seem to get a lot of offers of bargain trainers. Trainers? What do I want with trainers?! I’m 54 for chrissake! I can hardly drag the wheely bin up the drive on bin night in my Clarks slippers, never mind jog or run in trainers. Uninterestingly, I remember the days when trainers were called training shoes and you whitened them with that stuff that was like a forerunner of Tippex.
I know I’m guilty of wandering down memory lane in the blog and I make no apologies for that, so piss off and read somebody else’s blog. I care not for your negativity. Talking about training shoes has reminded me of the time in Home Economics when we had the How to Wash Clothes week and we were instructed to bring in a pair of jeans for washing. I did think that was a queer request at the time but I did as instructed and took in my brother’s Levis. Imagine my surprise then when literally no-one else in the class took jeans? They took ordinary trousers! Made of Crimplene or some other popular seventies fabric that resisted water anyway and only took five minutes to dry! I’m sure my brother’s Levis, were that they were alive today, would still be wet.
This memory has unnaturally segued into another memory involving Home Economics – How to Make Gingerbread week. I fancy that they were preparing us girls for married life which as we all know would involve nothing but copious amounts of Crimplene trouser washing and gingerbread making for our husbands, whether they liked it or not. I accidentally made a gingerbread of biblical proportions which I ate on the way home and was – to quote my granny – ‘skittered off the face of the earth’ and off school for a week. I still can’t look gingerbread in the face.
PS – I’ve accidentally caught an episode of Eastenders where a strange boy seems to have battered his mother (?) to death with a hockey stick. I’d throw the book at him. Or I’d sentence him to ten years hard labour – crimplene trouser washing and gingerbread eating.