Why this one's so late...

I think it's safe to say that if things like 'work ethic' and 'dedication' were measurable, mine would tend towards negative infinity. It has literally been months since my last post. Now I'm not one for making excuses (psh), but there are three reasons for my lack of commitment recently. The first and, if I'm honest, most prominent reason is that the past few months have been my 'gap year', of sorts.  It was a gap year on a rather tight budget, which means that while many of my peers went sailing across Bermuda, or running through Zimbabwe, or cage-fighting in Northern Europe, I stayed home watching Friends reruns and looking for a job which would let me keep at least some of my dignity. I also developed asthma, which was not so nice. As you can probably imagine, after seeing "The one with Mac and C.H.E.E.S.E" about six times my brain gave up, switched the 'autopilot' on and went for a Martini by the beach. While this must have been lovely for my brain, it left me in a state of complete uselessness: anything more complex than aimlessly clicking a mouse or holding a toothbrush caused a system overload resulting in an intense headache and an urgent desire to lie down and die.

This lasted for about a month, and then my brain decided to come back to me. I must say it wasn't in perfect condition, but I did enjoy being able to once again operate a door without fear of personal injury. However, this brings me on to the second reason for my disappearance from the blogoshpere. Once my brain let me access my higher functions again, I created a Youtube account. This was the second worst thing to happen to my productivity in 18 years. I got a strange sensation in those first few moments after creating my account: between Youtube's many pleas for me to upload a video and my somewhat exaggerated estimation of my abilities with a camera, I realised that I needed to grace the world with a film*. After about half an hour of excited, ambitious and ultimately pointless planning I started work on what would become Just another Lego Star Wars type movie. At that point I (naively) reckoned it would take me about a week to do. After a week, having finished about 27 seconds of what I wanted to be a 10 minute movie, I re-evaluated my first estimation. A strange thing happened thereafter: I became fixated on this clip I was making. My entire life, as lonely and sad as it was, was put on hold. Days (and I'm not kidding here, days) went by when I didn't eat or sleep at all, because that would have meant giving up precious and valuable time - time which could be used to work on the film. A few weeks later and I was quite impressed with the finished product, which I had been able to get into something resembling an HD format (you must understand I had - and still have - no understanding of video compression whatsoever and was rather shocked when, uncompressed, the movie took up 49GB of space). I was slightly less impressed when something went wrong while uploading it to Youtube. Somehow this professional and industry-leading video sharing site managed to stuff up my beautifully colourful and smooth HD blockbuster, turning it into a low resolution, blurry and fluctuant mess.

*This is a rather abridged version of the thought processes which led me to start making it. The full story is available in the AWoD Special Edition DVD, which is scheduled for release in Spring 2087.

"But," you scream at your computer screen or Blackberry or iPhone or iPad or internet TV or whatever other gadget you might be reading this on, mistakenly thinking that I can hear you, "but, your video was uploaded nearly two weeks ago! Why haven't you posted something in that meanwhile?" Well, this is because of my third reason: I'm going to university soon. In itself, this is not a very good excuse: most students-to-be spend every last moment, right up until they cross the threshold of their college, utterly intoxicated. Since inebriation is no excuse for writer's block, if my case had been similar then I would have no excuse. However, for me this is not the case. You see, the university I'm going to seems to have gotten it into its head that I'm quite smart. This might have once been true, but after 8 months of stumbleupon.com's humour section and BBC's mind-numbing daytime telly, I am probably not on top form. So for the past two weeks I've been attempting to refresh my memory of all the things that I learned in high school, in particular calculus and its affiliates. Unfortunately this hasn't been as effective as I'd hoped it would be; in general I'll get through half a question before saying 'grr' in frustration and dramatically giving up. But, every cloud has a silver lining...

Whether I struggle to keep up with the rest or outshine them all (fat chance...), university will at the very least give me something to write about. The reason for this is that the university I'm attending isn't exactly... conventional. The New York University of Abu Dhabi promises a rather unique experience for me and my 150-odd fellow classmates. I'll be travelling frequently, meeting lots of interesting people and apparently discovering the true meaning of soul-crushingly large amounts of work (less-vague information about NYUAD can be found here). So, for the next four years this blog and its Youtube equivalent will be a travelogue, a diary, a place to share my experiences and a place for me to bitch about difficult tests and unreasonable assignments...

Oh, yes. I leave on Friday!!!!!! ^_^

A very quick update

Some of the more astute of you may have noticed that I haven't posted anything new in quite a while. I apologise profusely to those of you who have frequented this site and have been anticipating new material, but I have had other things on my mind recently.

For one thing, I have spent the last two weeks or so making sure that I'm in ship shape for university (which is drawing closer and closer, albeit with a pace similar to that of continental drift). I have visited the dentist, twice been to the local doctor's office and in two days I'm going to a physiotherapist because... well because it's free, and I'm taking as much advantage of this first world's free medical care as I can. This all may seem awfully crude of me, but having grown up in a country where teachers and nurses are on strike as often as not, some rigidity in infrastructure is very welcome.  Although I'm sure you don't care, the result of all these checkups is me being happy with the state of my health. I am, apparently, a healthy young male with no real cause for concern on the medical front. The Bulgarian dentist even said that I have very good teeth, though she did quietly add "...for an English person" which I think, in today's multicultural and racially considerate society, was rather rude. One thing that's not so nice though is it appears that England has given me asthma, which sucks.

Another reason for my recent lack of commitment to this site is my commitment to another project I am working on. You might have seen a video I posted on Facebook a few days ago in which I tested out some new software I have recently acquired. Quite frankly it was a rubbish video, but as it was my first time (ever) doing anything of the sort I needed to figure out how things worked. Since then I have been working on something a bit more... plot driven, and I'm hoping to have it ready in the next week (no promises though, you know my work ethic). I will, of course, have something a bit extra - a director's cut of sorts - for my avid readers, as a bit of a thank you.

I'm going to stop writing now, before my arrogance and ego burst and mess up my keyboard. Hopefully the frequency of my posts will return to normal once I am done with this tedious editing process. I thank you for your time.

It's an ego thing.

I’m going to cut straight to the chase:

We’re falling behind in reader numbers lately, despite my well thought out plan to review… things.
No matter, because I have a new plan, and this one’s even better than the last! It’ll attract many
strangers and thus increase my reader base by at least about two (many of you must now be inclined
to think that I’m a self-centred egotistic attention seeking git, but the truth is I simply really
love writing - I just feel that there’s little point in writing if nobody’s going to read what’s written.

You, the readers, are the source of both my inspiration and my desire to write, I hope you
know that).


The plan I speak of is the outcome of many hours of web browsing, during which I observed certain…

rules for successful interneting. It seems one of the main mistakes I have made is too much writing
and not enough pictures. People love pictures but I started this whole blogging thing for writing only.
So, I’m at a bit of a dilemma here: should I forgo my values as a writer for some extra page views, or
do I continue my picture-less rants knowing full well it’s costing me readers? After much thought

I have decided to try my luck at some pictures now and then (when appropriate) but this will not be
a picture-based blog. I s’pose if I actually found a definite topic to write about I could go back to
full literary dedication, but for now I’ll have a go at some mix ‘n match

Commitment’s another issue I have. As some of you may know I’ve basically had 6 months of chill.

What this means, besides me being well up to speed on the latest Dr Who and HIMYM, is that

I’m pretty darn lazy at the moment. 6 months of no responsibility and no commitment – just pure
thinking time – has shot my already questionable work ethic to pieces. It will take quite a bit
of time to get back into a routine, and my body is just not particularly interested in that right now.

You can judge my self-control all you like (it’s never been my strong point), the point is that I
wouldn’t, at this point in time, do anything strenuous or exertive unless I was guaranteed to
get something financial, amusing or gratifying out of it (and we’re back to the egotistic git).


This ‘plan,’ come to think of it, isn't a precisely good plan. In fact it’s not a plan at all, not really:

from browsing the internet I realised some people like pics, and thus decided to include some, if
any, in my blog. This is neither particularly convincing nor cunning however, as I’ve not got any
other ideas on increasing the instant-gratification factor of this page, it’ll have to do. I’m a shallow

guy, yes, yes I’ve heard it all before.


I feel I might be coming off a bit strongly here, and I don’t want you to get the wrong impression.

Just because I crave attention in my writing does not mean I’m an extroverted person. I don’t
wanna be known as the attention seeking narcissist who’d do anything for recognition. To
tell the truth, I’m not that person, I just occasionally exhibit some of his characteristics.

You know, in non-writing based endeavours I’m really quite modest. Incredibly modest. Oh,
how you wish you were as modest as me, ‘cause I’m the best at being modest!! But I digress.

I’m simply asking you not to judge me too harshly based solely on this passage (though I get the
feeling it’s a bit late for that). Goddammit, you see even now, I’m asking for your approval! I’ve
gotta stop this, it’ll drive me mad! I really need to get over my reliance on you, my readers.
Make me stop, please.


You might have noticed that I have diverged somewhat from the original topic. As you were led to

understand, this entire passage is meant to be about falling reader numbers. However, I almost
never reveal the true topic of my writings up front. Well, that’s a complete lie, I often do. But I’m
gonna do something different today. I shall change topic half way through (shock and horror!). I’ll
give you a moment to absorb this incredibly unconventional and somewhat risky move. Are
you over it yet? Good.


Up until now, bees (yes, bees - you didn’t think I was serious about the topic change, did you?) have

never really directly played an important part in my life. At least I thought they didn’t. I’m now
gonna tell you why bees (you still think I might be joking, don’t you?) actually do quite a lot to
let us humans live. Well, I say a lot, it’s more like one general thing, and they don’t exactly go to,
you know, any extra effort or anything (as it’s instinctive), but it’s still pretty important…


Down in the vast farmlands (or up, depending on your geographical location), farmers could

never even hope to make a living were it not for bees. In America alone (this is probably
gonna shock you as much as it did me) bees pollinate $19 billion worth of crops annually. I’ll
run that by you again. $19 billion. Every third mouthful of food you eat you owe to a bee that flew
around his entire life pollinating his fuzzy yellow arse off.


And that’s not all. You might not think it but bees, from those nasty scorpion things in the

desert to the smartest dolphins in the ocean, have the most sophisticated communication
you will ever find (aside from human language, of course). Also, whilst dolphins and scorpions have
never been understood too well, scientists believe they have a grasp on Bee. If, for example, a bee is

gonna go out flower hunting, it’ll do a funky ‘waggle dance’ to tell all its friends where it’s going, and 

make sure they know how long it’ll be out. That’s another thing they’re surprisingly good at; like
you and me, bees have a sense of time (uncommon in nature apparently). The sting might make you
cry, but you have to admit that bees are pretty incredible. As are the people who study them…


Never before Karl von Frisch had a Nobel Prize in animal study been awarded, and unless someone’s

gonna do something as cool as learning how bees talk to each other (what he did) pretty soon, I’d
say that record’s secure. There are many more facts about bees I could bore you with, but I must say
goodbye soon, as I think I’ve pushed my luck with word limits far enough for now. I dare say I’ve
never rambled for this long about such twaddle in my life. But bear with me just a bit longer, I’m
gonna try to wrap this drivel up as best I can.


Tell a man there’s a hundred billion stars in the cosmos and he’ll believe you. Tell him that his plate’s

a bit hot and he’ll have to touch it to check. It’s an ego thing. The earlier topic change was a bit of a
lie. I was only trying to distract you; I had no real intentions of changing the topic. For those of you, 
and I’m sure there are some, who have caught on to what I’ve done, I hope you appreciate it. But I
hurt to think that some might not notice. So if  you haven’t, and you’re currently rather confused,
you might want to take a closer look at the first word of every line… It’s an ego thing.

And another thing.... (sort of)

Functionality, style, and magnitude of instilled awe and wonder. These are the three qualities which I have, if I’m quite honest, somewhat randomly chosen to use in judging the awesomeness of the things that I write about. So far I have written about a thing that possesses the first two qualities, but lacks heavily in the third (for it does not double as a rocket launcher or anything), and a thing that is strong in all three areas (as it is basically full-scale, live Battleships). I thought today that I’d mix things up a little by attempting to find something that would not qualify in any of the categories; something that has no useful purpose, something that has no grace or flair and something that does not shock or amaze in any way. Essentially I am looking for something that no one in their right mind would ever conceive of; something with no point at all.

The name Lindsay Lohan immediately springs to mind, but that’s a little bit unfair – she did briefly provide mild amusement for the useless-white-trash-leeches of society who contribute nothing and spend their entire existences following the escapades of other, richer, useless non-contributors. On second thoughts, perhaps my hasty criticism of this broken actress was slightly uncalled for – she did use her fame to help the Red Cross during the Haiti disaster aftermath, though frankly I don’t see what use someone whose house has just been decimated can have for the former child-star of The Parent Trap.

Using the above reasoning I can discount any and all celebrities, famous people and indeed famous things from my search for a completely pointless thing; they all serve some purpose, even if it is only to be famous. Extrapolating this notion, I can see that it is going to be pretty tough finding something without any point at all: anything that can be named can be said to serve the fundamental purpose of being itself (for example a square qualifies, beyond anything else, as a square. Even if all its other functions are stripped away it still has that).

Ignoring the quite possible logical fallacy above, I’m betting that even were some philosopher able to come up with a loophole in the above statement and find a thing with no point, no purpose, no use or function, some spiteful bastard would argue that this thing’s purpose is then to be pointless; intended as some sort of exception to the rule (the fact that I’d probably be that spiteful bastard is irrelevant).

It seems that looking for something with absolutely no intended purpose is like trying to lick your own elbows; you can try for hours on end but no matter how much stretching is done beforehand your efforts will be fruitless (I’m not entirely sure how the stretching fits in to my metaphor, but I don’t really have much to work with here…).

This all makes sense, really. In evolutionary terms, we can only inherit those traits which our ancestors possessed. The urge to waste valuable and limited time on a thing that provides no advantage or gain, or even change, in any way is not exactly promising for a species’ progress. Pointlessness was bred out of us long ago (if we ever had it at all).

That said, recent ‘natural selection’ has favoured the brain-dead rugby player over the rational and coherent. Fortunately, humanity has not yet regressed to the stage where utterly useless things are conceivable, but perhaps one day we will, and then I’ll have a pointless thing to write about. For now, though, everything has a purpose, no matter how trivial or silly or rugby-affiliated that purpose may seem. 

Another thing...

In the previous post I wrote about a thing. Although it was very good at what it was supposed to do, to be honest the Philips TRESemmé HP4882/07 Salon Control Ionic Hairdryer 2000w was not a particularly outstanding ‘thing’. To be a great thing something needs to have not only functionality but style and awesomeness (in the original context of the word) too - a wow factor of some sort - and no hairdryer can have the last unless it is a hairdryer that doubles as a heat-seeking rocket launcher. You need to walk away from that thing thinking “Incredible! That is certainly something that I shall remember for a while yet.” Or if (unlike me) you are not a pretentious git, thinking “wow, I’m gonna remember that!” will also be acceptable.

This brings me on to my next thing. This thing definitely has a wow factor, and not just because of its cool Latin name. I’ll bet you’ve never heard of this thing before, but after this you’ll never forget about it. The thing that I am talking about is a thing called ‘naumachia’, and it is basically the Roman version of the board game ‘Battleships’, but played with real ships and real people on a really, really big board.

Essentially, this immense naval version of ‘Gladiator’ pits two (or more) teams of prisoners of war against each other in a giant water-filled pit. These teams (of a thousand plus fighters) mash it out in boats ranging from small scaphas to monstrous triremes and quinqueremes. Smaller versions could be held in modified amphitheatres (such as the Coliseum), but for the most part these vast spectacles of death and terror occurred in specially dug basins, few of which remain even slightly intact today.

As you can imagine, these events were not particularly easy to organise. Even an emperor of Rome would have had difficulty gathering a couple of hundred warships and several thousand prisoners in the middle of a densely populated city. As such the naumachia were not given (sic) very frequently. After the first one, given by Julius Caesar (that arrogant bastard whom Brutus and his boys considerately rid us all of), 50 years passed before a subsequent was organised.

Once a naumachia had begun, the unfortunate condemned-to-die would attempt to stay the inevitable outcome for as long as possible. In the unlikely event that there was enough manoeuvring space in the glorified bathtub for two fleets, the ships would ram into each other, fire arrows and generally employ basic naval warfare tactics to disable and sink the other team’s boats. If, as was usually the case, the tub was too crowded for the ships to do anything other than sit around being tactically useless, the audience would be ‘treated’ to a tremendous scene of hand-to-hand combat. Either way, there was a lot of blood, gore and death.

You might remember I mentioned that a thing needs three features to be considered great: functionality, style and a wow factor. Even though I don’t particularly condone it, in this regard naumachia is pretty remarkable. It undoubtedly has the wow factor, in that its scale and apparent inhumanity are almost incomprehensible.  Aside from the unfathomable cruelty and scope, it does hold a certain amount of prestige that is inherent to things associated with Roman emperors (laurel wreaths, the Coliseum, etc) and this accounts for its style. It is in functionality that a dispute breaks out:

A lot of people may argue that the slaughter of thousands of lives for pure and fleeting amusement cannot be productive in any way, and that it is simply a long lost mistake from a long lost civilisation. My opinion however, is different. To me, naumachia really seems like the Roman version of going to the movies, except in HD, surround sound, 3D, IMAX, and without any restrictions on bringing your own snacks. Now what could possibly be more useful to the ancients’ entertainment industry than that?

A thing.

In the previous post I stated that I would start informing you dedicated reader (that's you, Alex) about more than just my fleeting musings. Well, without further ado, I introduce my first thing: a hairdryer.

Hairdryers in general are nice enough, and their concept is simple to understand (a fan forces air through a tube and over one or more twisted heating coils to produce a flow of hot air - this is then pointed at your head to dry your wet hair) but the hairdryer that I'm talking about is no ordinary 'dryer (as they're called in the trade).

The Philips TRESemmé HP4882/07 Salon Control Ionic Hairdryer 2000w is a one of a kind beaut (please note that this is hyperbole for effect, the HP8190 is a similar model, and in fact newer so probably better too). Whether you want a cool breeze or a volcanic gale, with 18 different settings permutations (through three different adjustable switches) this dryer will easily be able to provide. In addition to these unbelievable 18 settings, there is an "ION" control switch, which engages a fancy blue light on the top of the tube, and... well that's all really (though the scientists claim it will reduce frizziness).


This model is also renowned for its outstanding Chinese build quality. Made from strong, solid... uhm... plastic and with an aluminium rear intake guard, this reliable model will suit all your holiday/adventure travel needs. It has a 3 metre rubber encased chord ending in a standard, ASTA approved 3-prong plug (depending on your location), so can be used close to and far away from the wall.

No matter who you are, this is the perfect dryer for you: available in a total of one colour scheme, this durable and versatile instrument is both an excellent and affordable day-to-day hairdryer as well as wonderful addition to any avid collector's set.

A superb item, worthy of 4.5 stars

-UPDATE-
I have recently been contacted by a concerned reader who notified me that the company which sells the above mentioned thing has gone out of business. However, if you are interested in finding other things of a similar ergonomic nature, a good place to look is here. Thank you for your understanding.

I must be doing something wrong

Let's face it - I have failed in my 1 month of posts project. However, I must make it clear that the blame is not on me; it is on you, the readers. I fulfilled my obligation as the writer (I wrote) but you were useless readers: you did not read, and thus I had no motivation. Call me a shallow extrovert all you want, but you know it's true.

I am, of course, joking. You know I love you guys. Well at least you Alex, as for all I know you've simply checked in on this page 172 times. I take full responsibility for my lack of reader base. It is my fault, though I was not at first entirely sure why. However, after browsing through a number of random blogs, I think I can now shed some light on the situation.

My posts are generally meaningless. Although one or two people might have a laugh now and then, no one walks away any the wiser, and most people do not want this. In today's rat-race-societied-high-paced-high-flying-wotsit world, if someone is going to have a laugh, it can't be for free. This someone will not want to waste his/her time on some instant (and fleeting) gratification. He/she will want something more permanent; perhaps some information that will be useful in idle chatter, maybe some opinions that will help in purchasing a new car, or possibly some tips that will aid in general day-to-day living (I have suddenly realised the uselessness of referring to the 3 pages which I visited, as there is no possible way you could be privy to that information. The first was a blog discussing current affairs, the second was a page for the car enthusiast and the third was written by a mother telling of her child-raising experiences. Now the previous sentence should make more contextual sense). My blog gives nothing of the sort, for it is made up of nothing more than my random and spontaneous drivellings.

So, taking the above findings into consideration, I can see that if I want to expand my reader base I'm going to need to start being more... useful. It is therefore that I pronounce rather formally that from hereon until such a time as I realise I am wrong or simply get bored, I shall dedicate this blog to informing the readers thereof about "things". My first attempt will follow shortly.

This one includes mention of a duck!!!

Well, this is rather upsetting. In the past 48 hours this site has had about 10 new page-views, of which about seven were by Alex, and the other three by me. So, seeing as though Alex is apparently the only person who reads these things, I shall address him personally in this one. I'm going to address him as a (somewhat badly translated) fat Chinese fellow eating a surprisingly tasty glazed duck.

"Nǐ hǎo Arex" crunch om nom nom munch munch " it's good to talking to you agai- Ō, wǒ de shàngdì! This duck is suplisingry tasty! Tā mā de, the glazed is so nicery and lich." chomp crunch "But I am splitting, what I meaning to say is that I appleciate you leading this brog, even though it is leally a xuèxīng rost cause."

Alright, enough with this light-hearted racism. You might think that Chinese is quite a random choice of language to address my entirely English-speaking friend with, however there is actually some connection between our friendship and China (the place where they speak Chinese). By the way, I've stopped addressing only Alex now, and I'm back to addressing you. Unless you're Alex, because then I never stopped addressing you, and I can't go back to something I never left...

The connection is the fact that two years ago we both went on the same cultural/diplomatic/historical/mathematical/scientific tour that our high school organised, which essentially turned out to be a holiday justified by seeing some old stuff, doing some cool things and meeting some interesting people. This, come to think of it, is the typical description of a holiday. So I guess you could say that it was a tour which was a holiday which justified itself by being a holiday...

I am, of course, using hyperbole to enhance an only mildly humourous situation which without my exaggeration would hold absolutely no interest to you. The fact is that it was a very interesting and eventful two weeks and, although its main purpose was to be an educational tour, much fun was had by all, and many a stirring story came out of it.

It is my intention to regale you with as many of these stories as I can remember, but these are too numerous and long to be included here. This is merely the prologue to a saga of adventure, humour, thrill and horror; tales of delight and despair that will have you laughing with terror on the edge of your seat. Unless, that is, even Alex stops reading this. Then I'll probably give up and go paint something, just for the entertainment value in watching it dry.

God I'm bored.

A tale of two kitties.

I'd like to tell you about my two cats. One is named Snowy, after her off-white-with-splodges-of-grey coat which mildly resembles snow that has been left to its own devices for about a week, and the other is called Harley-Socks-Simba-Thunderbird-Cat (this will be explained later). I am allergic to both of them.

I suppose I should start with a bit of background info. When my family relocated to England, we were forced to leave our pets behind, simply because England is too tiny for 4 cats, 2 cross St Bernard/Boerbuls, numerous fish, some chickens and a monkey which sporadically used our property as a food source and toilet (don't worry, they all had wonderful homes provided - except the monkey. He was pure evil). While I was somewhat relieved that my sinuses would finally get a break from their constant battle with cat spit, my 12 year old sister was very distraught by this separation. She came to the logical conclusion that she could fill the petless void that had consumed her with... well... another pet. I had no problem with this, I just thought it slightly inconsiderate that she actively chose to get the one thing in the world that I am allergic to as her cuddle-object.

After many hours of begging and pleading my sister finally convinced mum (despite my avid protests) that this was a good idea, and the pet store was phoned. Here's where the real fun started: my sister was very insistent upon getting a female cat, for reasons she has constantly avoided stating. The pet store had no issue with this request, as they had just received a delivery of small kittens (or whichever way kittens are supplied) and were sure that they had the perfect female kitty for my sister. After a quick visit to the store my sister absolutely fell in love with the thing, and I might have too had my eyes not been burning. We were advised to wait about a week before collecting it, so that the kitten could... set (or something).

A week later all kitten-raising preparations had been made (sleeping quarters, food stores, a college fund - you know, the usual) and we were on our way to collect it (at this stage the name was still in dispute). Upon our arrival we were informed of a 'slight alteration in plans.' The kitten was not, as the store had originally determined, female. This (aside from confusing me considerably - how exactly does one get that wrong?) sent my sister into a terrible panic. She immediately renounced all ties of affiliation to the poor thing, repulsed by the the idea of it's horrible (and apparently easily missable) penis. Having been assaulted by the profusest of apologies, my sister was directed to another cat, which was assuredly female. The cat had an off-white-with-splodges-of-grey coat which mildly resembled snow that has been left to its own devices for about a week, and like a twelve year old falling in love with a cat, my sister fell in love with it.

But there was an issue. My mother (oft overcome with sentiment and pity) felt sorry for the other cat, the one my sister had rejected. She also found it incredibly cute. Ignoring my observations that we had not prepared for two cats, and that another cat would double the workload and cost of maintenance, she made a spontaneous decision to get the rejected one too. I thought that my sister would be upset by this, but in fact the promise of two cuddle-things just sent her into a high-pitched frenzy of excitement and jumping.

While my mother went to fill out the necessary forms, I decided to observe the new additions to the family. The splodgy cat (which my sister had named Snowy to no objections) was incredibly shy and would not let me near it, but the other cat was soon pretty fond of me. It had jet black furwith white patches on its cute little feet, a white patch on its neck and... well, that's about it really. Aside from that it looks like any other cat.

Mother returned and it was soon time to name the other cat. My sister was stuck between Harley (yes, after the motorbike. No, I don't know why) and Simba (she really, really likes the Lion King), my mother wanted to call it Socks because the white patches on its paws resembled white socks, and I put forth the name Cat because naming a cat is really pointless as it'll never come when you call it anyway. Since we could not decide on a name, someone (and I can't remember who) suggested making a long winded, quadruple-barreled name. And so Harley-Socks-Simba-Cat came to be named. I found this a little unfair however, as the long name kinda defeated the purpose of my short suggestion 'Cat,' so I insisted on getting another go. And so Harley-Socks-Simba-Thunderbird-Cat came to be named (Harley, for short)

It's 5 months, 2 surgeries, 13 dead birds, 4 dead rats, and about £100 million in food, cat entertainment toys and de-worming stuff later and all we have to show for it are two incredibly big cats and a house without any unscratched furniture. It seems that all these cats have really done is attack and eat every living thing within five km, poo all over the house, sharpen their claws on anything that looks expensive, sleep on my face (which gets terribly frustrating, especially so thanks to my allergy) and get sick a lot. The worst thing is that I think they know what they're up to; they know they shouldn't scratch the furniture, or bring in dead birds, or sink their claws into my cheeks, but they also know that they're cute enough to get away with it all. Although I love them to bits because they are the cutest things in the world, I wish that they could be as cute without being so... anarchistic.

This, however, is a fruitless hope, and I have resigned myself to the fact that if I wish to continue appreciating the aesthetic value of these furry feline fiends, I will have to accept all the arrogance, terror and pain that comes with them. But there is also no harm in taking the fullest pleasure from those moments of pure, deserved humiliation; such as yesterday, when Harley took on a peacock - and lost.

Nursery rhymes but different (not recommended for small children).

Refract and diffract, minuscule burning ball of nuclear fusion,
Oh how I contemplate the nature of your existence.
Far beyond the outer limits of this planet
Similar to a lump of compressed carbon in the stratosphere.
Refract and diffract, minuscule burning ball of nuclear fusion,
Oh how I contemplate the nature of your existence.

A trio of vision-impaired rodents, A trio of vision-impaired rodents.
Observe the manner in which they scamper, Observe the manner in which they scamper. 
The complete group lopes after the agriculturalist's spouse, who severs their caudal appendages with a shaping blade,
have you ever observed an event during your existence
similar to a trio of vision-impaired rodents

Baa baa atramentous sheep, are you in possession of any scalar quantity of your fleece? 
Affirmative m'lord, affirmative m'lord, a trinity of packed satchels.
A single for the Lord, a single for the mistress, and the final shall be bequeathed unto the miniature young male who resides bottomward of the pathway.


The iconic platform overpass in the former city of Londinium has experienced structural failure, experienced structural failure, experienced structural failure.
The iconic platform overpass in the former city of Londinium has experienced structural failure, oh unprejudiced female of mine.

In loving memory of The blog which was lost.

As my previous post has explained, my entire blog was deleted, or something to that effect, yesterday. Aside from being a terrible burden to me, this puts many of this page's newcomers and random happeners-upon in the dark. As my frequent readers and beloved followers will know, I have made some bold statements in the past few days, as well as provided some information vital to the understanding of my posts. I shall briefly summarise these important posts, to bring everyone up to speed.

The first mention must be of my challenge: due to a very important anniversary (the details of which are far too convoluted and numerous to even begin to summarise) I have decided to challenge myself to produce 30 posts in 30 days (please note that it is my prerogative to choose how to disperse these posts - I may choose to post three in a day and then have two days off, or something of the like. Do not expect one every day). Due to the fact that three of the posts on what will from now on be referred to as "The blog which was lost" fell into the 30 day time span, this post is now officially the 5th of my challenge. This means that I have 28 days to complete 25 posts.

The second piece of information is an award. I shall not beat around the bush; the award for the most dedicated follower goes to Jo Balmer, a person who I am pleased to be personally acquainted with.

The third and final thing that The blog which was lost must be remembered for is a list of words. Not yet comprehensive enough to be considered a dictionary, this list contains all the made up words which the creators hope will one day be considered as popular and great as words like 'the' and 'marmalade.' These etymologically challenged words are:

bymicycle [bye-meh-{cycle}] (noun): A cross between a motorcycle and a ferret (top front bit ferret, the rest motorcycle).

edpe [kward] (adjective):  

1. Refers to the extreme of any existing adjective. "Usain Bolt is a edpe runner," "That movie was so edpe I cried."*
   *Note that this word is best used when the meaning of the replaced adjective is obvious
2. Existing on a level of emotional or intellectual complexity beyond one's comprehension. "I just read Stephen Hawking's newest publication - it was edpe"

Hexagor [hecks-ah-gore] (noun): A six-clawed Pteradon-type monster whose left wing is shorter that the right, a strange evolutionary happening which enables it to turn left easily while in flight.

Swee [swee] (verb)

1. The act of hedgehog copulation
2. Can be used by humans to express desire for intercourse no matter the cost. "She is so beautiful that I'd be prepared to swee her"

Zdopy [zd-oh-pee] (adjective): Used to describe a person or an idea as having about as much common sense as the average lemming.

Once more words have been documented I shall create a post dedicated to listing and defining them, as well as putting them in clear context. For now though, this will have to do.

Although this concludes official dealings with The blog which was lost, it is my hope that It will live on in our hearts forever, and that we can share and spread the tale of our experience with it; a blissful memory shared by few, but a legend revered by all.

Damn you blogspot. Damn you to hell.

I am deeply, deeply frustrated. As some of you may know, 'Blogger.com' has recently experienced a catastrophic system failure. I am new to this service, so I do not know if this happens regularly, but even if this was a once-off happening it was at a terribly inconvenient time:

To cure the malfunction, the administrators (or whatever the idiots in high-command are called) 'temporarily' removed all posts that were entered after this most recent Wednesday morning. This seemed to fix the problem and all the recent blog posts were restored except, as it turns out, mine. Because my page was created on Wednesday afternoon, their removal of all entries included the actual entry of my blog, and (though I do not know why) they have failed to restore it.

This is somewhat of an inconvenience for me, for I spent a good several hours setting all my settings, linking all my links, posting all my posts and generally fiddling around to get things just the way I wanted. The only advice that I have found on the internet about missing blogs is from illiterate fools who are upset that their porn hub has been flagged as 'splog' (what a strange word) and removed. This is of no help to me, and I am unwilling to go through the torturous twisted labyrinth that is contacting the authorities in the matter, for I am near certain this will (after hours of letters and stupid explanations) result in nothing more than a generic apology and a half-hearted good luck in reforming my new blog.

So, rather than put myself through fruitless hours of effort I shall begin recreating A Word on Ducks. Over the next few days, or weeks, or however long it should take I will work tirelessly to restore this site to its former glory. And, unlike the Byzantine Empire, I shall not fail.