Slow Cooker

My father has aquired a "slow cooker". This apparently ranks with fire and the wheel as one of the greatest inventions of our time. You can chuck some meat into it (after you've fried it first of course) and then, a mere eight hours later, you can tuck into a nourishing and piping hot stew.

We went round to dad's for tea today, and I must admit the slow cooked meal was delicious. But I still remain a bit sceptical about the overall concept. When I get hungry, I want to eat now. Not one working day later. The idea was mooted that we might put all the stuff in the cooker first thing in the morning, and leave it cooking all day. The idea of frying mince at seven thirty in the morning does not have a great appeal to me.

I've also got a concern that a slow cooker might end up going the same way that the bread machine did, although it would be difficult to do this I suppose. A crucial component of the breadmaker was a little metal impeller which spun at different speeds during the bread making process as it mixed, pounded and otherwise worked on the dough. It had a habit of leaving itself impaled in the bread and, of couse, one day we threw out a loaf containing the precious bit of metal and in the process turned our bread maker into a large paperweight. If the bread it made had been nicer we would probably have eaten it rather than chucking it out. Which is kind of natural selection at work I guess.

High Pressure

As well as a new razor, last week I got a blood pressure monitor. It was very cheap and I thought it might be a bit of fun. You press a red button and it inflates a little cuff around your wrist and then slowly lets the air out. At the end you get two numbers which mean something bad if they are too low. And something very bad if they are too high. Mine seem to be about right, according to number one wife. Although I'm not sure why she went off and got out those insurance policies later in the evening.

Note that this does not indicate a new obsession with health. It is more a continuation of the one with gadgets. And it is rather neat, in its own little plastic case. I dropped it and it went off, trying to measure the blood pressure of nothing at all. It was still there, whirring and beeping plaintively five minutes later.

The Little Brown Ikea Pencil of Doom: Part 2

When Jane Wilkins got home from her teaching job at MadeupTown School she was surprised to see her husband's car parked in the drive. "Jim usually goes out with the lads from the station on a Thursday night" she thought to herself as she pushed open the front door. Half way open it stuck. She squeezed around the door and gasped in surprise at the scene in front of her. Blocking the door was a large cardboard package marked "Klodd: 1 of 3" and all around were packages and bags bearing a familiar yellow and blue logo.

"Jim?" she called.

"In here love" came a voice from the living room. She crossed the hall and saw her husband in the middle of the room, surrounded by sections of a large pine bookcase.

"What are you doing?" she asked. Her husband looked up at her, still dressed in his police uniform, screwdriver in hand.

"Well love, when I saw the list that you had left me I thought I'd go out and surprise you. It took a bit longer than I thought, and some of the bits are on order, but, well, here we are". She followed his gaze around the room, taking in the new clock, pelmet, curtains and toothpaste dispenser.

"It's very nice." she said, "But I don't remember leaving you a list."

"Course you did love." he replied. "I found it on the car seat when I came out of the station at the end of the shift. The store is only on the way home and so I thought I'd pick it all up. You must admit it looks good." And yes, it did look good. And she had been remarking lately that a few new bits and pieces would spruce the place up a bit. But she didn't remember writing anything down about an inflatable chair. Certainly not in that shade of green.

"I'll go and put the kettle on." she said, stepping over the discarded packaging on her way to the kitchen. As she walked past her husband she noticed something on the side of his head.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing.

"Oh that." he smiled, reaching behind his ear. "I'd quite forgotten that was there". He put the little brown pencil down on the mantelpiece.

(to be continued)

And this is just scary.

Not Really Mad

We had an admissions afternoon today. Lots of students and parents turned up to kick our tyres and see what they thought. Great fun. As usual I pointed them at all my web and blog pages. But now I'm getting worried. If all they read is "crazy world" they might form the impression that I am some kind of crazy person. In fact, things might be even worse. I told a couple of my favourite jokes during the afternoon and so these pages may be seen to further confirm their diagnosis.

So I'd like to at this point remind everyone that I am in fact not crazy. Not at all. And teddy agrees with me. So there.

(I'd like to at this juncture point all the readers at something academic and brainy to further underpin my sane credentials. But unfortunately all I can think of is my Smartphones and Cheese articles. Oh well)

Processed Chicken

Had to go to the dentist today. I am one of those lucky few that have a National Health Dentist, which are in this country as rare as hen's teeth. They have a very slick operation. In one door, sign a form, in another, wait ten minutes, in the surgery, say Ahhhhh, then back out, sign another form, make the appointment, and out. Very smooth.

I've been scared of dentists ever since I found out what they do. But today I was cracking jokes and using light hearted banter like "Your're not going to hurt me are you? Are you???" in my usual fashion. I have now reached the time of life where anything health related is probably followed by "..for your age". As in "You've got quite good teeth. For your age". So I have good teeth. For my age. For now.

They were collecting data for their (gulp) computerised surgery system. I hope their process is as smooth next time I go.