The Hairy Dream

I dreamed a dream in times to come ... When hope will be high and life worth living ... again. And in this dream, when all this is over, throughout the world, there will be a shortage of hairdressers appointments. People will phone and call everywhere to book a time to have their hair cut. But no one will be able to book them in for every slot will be already taken.

People will walk the streets like zombies with hair as long as it could be. Growing from every place that one can fathom and never seeming to want to stop. People will be tripping and falling on their moustaches and beards. Women in search for a salon. Armpits hair so long that it is braided or in ponytails. And hair growing everywhere.

The queues outside hairdressers and salons will be miles long with people standing at least two metres apart to respect social distancing. Governments everywhere will try to shorten the queues by asking people to stand closer together again.

All will be well once more in this new dawn. People will be allowed to hug and kiss again except for the hair that comes between them. Hair uncut for such a long time encouraging others to grow unwanted.

And in my dream I drove up the highway in my sports car. My girl beside me with her hair blowing in the wind. And I had to stop to pick it up before it got entangled in the trees.

I also dreamt that I went to the hairdresser and asked him for a Tony Curtis hairstyle. He shaved my head totally bald. I was livid. Really mad. "You've shaved me totally bald," I cried, "do you even know who Tony Curtis is?" 

"Indeed I do," he replied, "I saw him in The King And I fifteen times."

A few weeks later I went to another hairdresser. He asked me how I’d like my hair cut. I looked at him and said, “Like yours!”

He shaved my head totally bald. I was livid again. I said, “that’s not like yours!”

He replied, “Yes it is, but mine has grown again now!”

A few weeks later on I went to yet another hairdresser. He asked me how I’d like my hair cut. He had a photo of Gary Cooper. I pointed at the photo and said, “like him!”

He shaved my head totally bald. I was really livid, more than before. I said, “That’s not what Gary Cooper looks like!”

He replied, “He would if he came here for a haircut!”

In this dream there was hair everywhere. As it was cut there became a problem of disposal or re-cycling.

What can you do with all this hair that has been growing uncut for weeks on end? It gathered and rolled everywhere as tumble-weed in cowboy films.

To find a single hair in your soup in a restaurant became a dream to aspire to rather than the norm.

A hair's breadth was measured in miles.

I dreamed a dream in times to come.
When hope will be high and life worth living ... again.
I dreamed, that love had never died.
I dreamed that God would need a calculator to count the hair on our head.

Even the hairs of your head have all been counted. So do not be afraid; you are worth much more than many sparrows! (Luke 12:7)

Recorded for posteriority

You know, I read the other day that if you drive non-stop for 23 hours and 55 minutes you’ll be 5 minutes from Tulsa!

Anyway … as I was about to tell you before I interrupted myself, what an eventful day today has been.

I started the morning by visiting my doctor.

The poor man was not well and I thought it’s kind to visit the sick.

As soon as I entered the doctor’s surgery he asked me to lie down on the couch. I asked him why and he said: “I want to vacuum clean just where you’re standing!”

Then he looked at me and asked “Do you get severe headaches in the morning, followed by stomach pains and trembling of the knees?”

I replied “No … why?”

“Because I’ve been getting these symptoms for a week and I wondered if you knew what they were!" he said.

“Anyhow … what are you here for?” he continued.

I showed him my arm and said “I’ve hurt myself in three places.”

He replied, “Stop visiting these places!”

“And another thing doctor,” I went on, “when I drink tea I get this very sharp pain in my eye.”

“Take the spoon out of the cup before drinking!” he said.

I hesitated for a bit and then told him what I was really there for.

"You see, doctor," I started, "sometimes I feel I am a dog."

"How long has this been going on?" he asked.

"Ever since I was a puppy!" I replied.

"OK ..." he said, "get on the couch."

"I'm not allowed on the couch," I replied. He sighed a little and threw his pen in the corner of the room. "Go and fetch it yourself," I said, "I'm not your dog!"

As I got off the couch the doctor asked me, “Tell me, do you have a horse?”

“No I don’t!”

“Pity,” he said, “I have some horse pills I got from a vet … you wouldn’t like to try them do you? You’ll soon be off at a gallop!"

I refused his pills, so he asked me "Do you have problems passing water?"

I replied, "Only when I cross a river ... I get a little dizzy".

"Anything else?" he continued.

"Yes ... I have water on the knee!" I said.

"That's because you're not aiming straight," he said, "tell me ... what are the symptoms?"

"They are yellow cartoon characters on TV ... there's Homer, Bart, Marge and Lisa ..."

He looked me straight in the eye and asked, "How's your libido?"

I hesitated and then replied, "I've had enough of them Italian cars, I now have a BMW!"

At this point a depressed moth flew in through the window. "Help me help me," it said, "I'm so unhappy!"

"Sorry I can't help you," said the medic, "I am a doctor. Not a psychiatrist, or psychologist, or hypnotist or any similar medic that can help you with depression".

"Yes, I know," said the depressed moth.

"Why did you come in and see me then?" asked the medic.

"Because the light was on ..." replied the moth.

(Oh well ... it made me laugh anyway.)

Anyway ... When I returned home I found the postman in my front garden.

“Is this letter yours,” he asked, “the surname’s obliterated.”

“My surname is Moubarak” I replied.

He gave me the letter. It was from a lawyer. I had been left two valuable items in Aunt Matilda’s last will and testament.

I took the items to an antiques dealer and he confirmed them as a genuine Stradivarius and a Rembrandt.

Unfortunately, Rembrandt was bad at making violins and Stradivarius was a terrible painter!

As I was heading back home, just by the beach, a seagull flew above me and emptied its load on my head. I asked a passer-by if he had a paper handkerchief. He said "It's too late mate. The seagull must be miles away by now!"

And that's how my day was today. What was yours like?

Life as it was for me.

We were on holiday and we decided it would be a good idea to hire some horses and go for a ride on the beach. There was a farm nearby which we knew from the day before that they hired horses, because we saw the sign saying so. We went there and the owner showed us the horses available. "This is a good horse for beginners," he said. 

"How about that horse there?" I asked, pointing at one of the horses in the paddock, "what's his name?"

"Oh ... we haven't named him yet," he replied.

"Good" I said. "We'll have the horse with no name!"

At this point a young lady came out of the farmhouse followed by a boy about ten years old. The owner greeted them both and picked up the child and put him on his shoulders. They all giggled happily.

"You must be strong," I said, "carrying him like that so easily!"

"Oh ... he ain't heavy, he's my brother," said the young lady.

"This is my fiancée," said the owner of the horses, "we hope to get married soon. She likes animals very much. She would like the wedding reception to be held at the local zoo. Just by the monkeys cage!"

I thought he was joking; then I saw her face ...

At this point, the magic of wedding bells and happiness ever after was suddenly shattered as one of the horses let off an almighty fart that turned the air blue. We were all gasping for breath by the smell.

I must have been in quite a state and very shaken by the experience ... and violently shaken I really was ... as I woke up from a most disturbed dream.

Time For Reflections

This short recording (12 minutes) includes three songs that may speak to you at this time of your life. God bless.

The Priest's Bicycle

Before I start today's post let me say that I have received a number of e-mails about the picture I posted yesterday about a man at the beach. I also received an e-mail from someone I don't know saying that she wants to bequeath me a fortune of $41m to use for charitable purposes. Isn't that wonderful. I've sent her my bank details and I am waiting for the transfer of money.

Anyway, back to the picture. People asked why the man is seen wearing a bra top. Well, I did this because I read somewhere that nipples are sexually attractive or suggestive. Something to do with homogeneous zones or something. So I designed the top with the same material of my swimming trunks. Unfortunately when I am in the water the top slides off revealing my nipples. I have noticed some women looking at me and smiling. Thus proving my point.

Now let's get on with today's story.

Once upon a time there was a priest who used a bicycle to go everywhere in his parish in order to save money and to save the planet. He even cycled all the way to another town when he had to see the bishop.

One day his bicycle was stolen. He rang the bishop to explain why he could not visit.

The bishop suggested that on Sunday he delivers a sermon on the Ten Commandments. "Read each Commandment in turn," he advised, "and then talk a little about each one. When you get to the seventh Commandment shout out loud THOU SHALT NOT STEAL, and then watch the congregation to see if anyone winces or shrinks in his seat, or looks down shamefully, or tries to leave. He is your thief"

The following week the priest cycled to the bishop. The bishop greeted him and said, "I see you got your bicycle back. Did you catch the thief?"

The priest replied, "actually, when I got to the sixth Commandment, Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery, I remembered where I left my bicycle!"

Archaeology R Us or R U?

Are you interested in archaeology? I wasn't until recently. What I am going to tell you is absolutely true. I know some of you doubt the veracity of my articles, which is a pity, because I had to look up veracity in the dictionary to find out what it means.

A few days ago I took a walk in a woods that dates back to when the Romans invaded Britain in search for haggis as a change from their pasta diet. The mini-forest or woods is supposed to date back to something B.C. It says so on the notice board at the entrance. It says "This wood dates back to something B.C. We cannot be precise as to date because we do not have a Latin calendar."

Anyway, what sparked my interest in archaeology is the fact that apparently archaeologists have found many buried things in this wood dating back to the Roman period. By the way, did you know that archaeologists make the best marriage partners? The older you get the more interested they are in you. And some people these days are right fossils are they not? Well preserved or pickled I should think. Which says a lot in favour of drinking spirits.

So I learnt that in this particular wood near us a Roman centurion many centuries ago tripped on a dead branch and fell face down to the ground. As it happens, in my walk a few days ago in this very wood I too tripped and fell to the ground. Spooky or what? Doesn't it chill your bones when history repeats itself? Can you imagine? Thousand of years after the centurion fell, I too fell in the very same wood.

By the way, my thoughts have gone to a tangent ... seeing that picture above reminded me. I thought our hamster had died. I was in his cage trying to play with his wheel when I noticed that he was not moving. He was there in the corner motionless. He'd been like that for a while. I thought he was dead. So I got off his wheel and went closer to him and noticed he was opening and shutting his eyes. He was signalling SOS in Morse code. So I took him to the vet. Apparently he had swallowed a fridge magnet and had been stuck to the side of the cage for three days.

Anyway ... back to archaeology. I went to the library and borrowed books on the subject. Learnt a lot. Oh ... I meant to tell you. Did you know I taught myself to swim? Could not swim one bit until I borrowed a book on teaching yourself to swim. Encouraged by my new acquired knowledge I went to the swimming pool. Unfortunately the pages of the book got very wet and got stuck together. I nearly drowned!

And another thing ... it's amazing how they use libraries for a lot of other functions these days. They have spare rooms so they hire them out to various groups like reading clubs, knitting clubs or other interests to encourage people to meet. I discovered there's even an archaeology club which meets each week and is addressed by an expert. So I decided to give it a go. Unfortunately I went to the wrong room and when I opened the door there was this woman lying on the floor pointing her backside at me.

She did not flinch one cheek when she saw me. Apparently she was preparing for her yoga class which was due to start shortly. She just kept her plough position as she continued talking to me, and to get me interested in joining the group. I tell you, I was quite interested.

So I decided to join her group instead of archaeology. Have you ever tried yoga? Did you find it relaxing and did it help you? I'll confess, yoga is not for me.

You have to be a contortionist to get into all those positions. And I am totally the wrong body shape being so rotund. My legs and arms became totally entangled and I was more disjointed than ever before. I'll tell you something. Having to get into all those difficult positions and stay there for a while ... the only thing I learnt from that yoga session was how to hold on to a fart for a long period of time.

Back to what I was saying. I got hooked on archaeology. I started learning all about it and ancient people. For example, have you ever heard of Sir Ivor Phind the famous archaeologist and part-time salesman of underwear? He invented elasticated underwear you know. Before then underpants were held in place by a chord tied round the waist. You pull the chord and all is revealed. Which is how they invented the contraption that opens curtains in theatres; but that's another story.

Sir Ivor Phind was archaeologising somewhere in Europe, or was it South America? Probably Asia? Anyway, he was digging up dirt somewhere or other and he discovered the tomb of Toten Ham the III. In the tomb was the mummified body of Toten Ham the IV. It did not contain Toten Ham the III because he refused to be buried there on account that he was not dead yet. So Toten Ham IV died instead to ensure that the tomb was not sold cheaply to the highest bidder.

By the way, why do they say mummified body? Why not pappyfied body? Why always a mummy, a mother rather than a father? I suppose it's the same reason why they say catacomb and not dogacomb.

On the sarcophagus of Toten Ham IV there was a curse written in ancient writings in some ancient language that people no longer speak or understand. Fortunately, Sir Ivor Phind had such a dictionary in his pocket so he could translate what it said on the stone coffin. It read, "BEWARE - No Wifi reception. Whoever opens this coffin will be for ever cursed never to eat a donut."

Since donuts had not yet been invented, sadly Sir Ivor Phind died a very rich and famous man yet never to have enjoyed the delights of a jam donut, or a cream one, or an apple donut, or a chocolate covered donut, or a donut with icing, or other delightful types of donuts.

Sad isn't it?

The Old Priest Story

Once upon a time there was an old priest who became rather forgetful and tired of giving sermons at Mass on Sunday.

He used to write down his sermons and then read them at Mass; but more often than not he used to forget bringing his sermons to church; so at sermon time he had nothing to read anyway.

He reasoned that if he had to write down his sermons in order to remember them, then how could the congregation be expected to remember them after leaving church.

With such impeccable logic he decided to do something about it.

One Sunday morning at Mass he announced: “I’m getting old and forgetful. I really can't be bothered anymore with writing sermons I instantly forget. So from now on there will be no more sermons at Mass!”

His congregation was very disappointed and some even complained to the Bishop.

The Bishop called the old priest in for an explanation. Somewhat pensively the old priest explained that he could no longer remember what to say in his sermons, and even though he prepared sermons in writing, he often forgot to bring his writing to church, which meant he had no sermon to deliver.

The Bishop sympathized with the elderly colleague and said: “Here's something you could try. Next time you have to give a sermon say in a loud voice ‘I have an announcement to make!’

“This will ensure you have everyone’s attention. They will hang on to your every word.

“Then say just as loudly ‘I have fallen in love with a woman’.

“Now this will certainly have them all listening very carefully and remembering your every word.

“And then calmly tell them about the Virgin Mary, and all the good she did for us. It will be easy. Just speak from the heart of your love for Our Lady”.

The old priest was overjoyed and the following Sunday he stood proudly at the lectern and said loudly:

“I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT TO MAKE!”

And sure enough everyone sat up in their pews to listen very carefully. The old priest then continued just as loudly:

“THE BISHOP HAS FALLEN IN LOVE WITH A WOMAN …”

As the congregation stirred in their seats the old priest went on:

“I can’t for the life of me remember her name …”

And that's a good excuse for me to remind you about my Father Ignatius Kindle books: HERE

Management Training

I really could not stand all that management training and managerial speak that makes one sound trendy and "in-the-know" when I worked in London. There was always one person, (or more), who was keen to get to the top of the greasy pole of success and show off by being far too clever for their own good.

My lifetime motto has always been "you don't have to blow someone else's candle out for your light to shine". But it seems I was the only one with this attitude. I remember at an annual appraisal meeting my boss said to me once, "you don't have much ambition, do you?"

I replied, "I have ambitions, but not what you would expect!"

Despite his opinion of me, I did leave that firm eventually as a very senior manager.

Anyway, I remember once at a management training meeting, the boss, who knew us all obviously, started the meeting by saying, "let us discover what you all bring to the table!"

"What a stupid thing to say," I thought, but said nothing. Then he proceeded to ask each one in turn their skills which he wrote on the board. Someone said they have accounting experience, someone else said they have worked in HR for years, another came from a sales and marketing background, and so on. And the boss wrote all this down although he knew it anyway. I thought it was a waste of time and I was fuming inside because I had a lot of time-sensitive work to do which was being held up by this meeting. Perhaps I should not have let the devil tempt me, but when it came to my turn to announce my skills I said, "I can wrestle crocodiles!" To be fair to my boss, he said nothing, but wrote it on the board.

Then the exercise proceeded on to team working and decision making. We were told to imagine that our car broke down in the middle of a desert. We were stranded and had to decide whether to stay by the car, or to move to a sheltered place away from the sun, and what would we take with us. Some suggested we take salt tablets (?), others said they'd take a map, (do deserts have maps?), someone wanted to take a flask of water and a bottle of whisky, and so on. I remained silent wishing I was at my desk getting on with my work. The boss noticed my silence and asked me what I would take with me.

I replied, "I'd take the car door!"

They were all puzzled by my reply. The boss asked me why.

I said, "If it gets hot I can open the window!"

Again, to his credit, he did not react. I guess he did not want to get into confrontation with his senior manager.

On another occasion we had to visit the company psychologist on an individual basis. He sat me down and talked about trust. Apparently, in team work you have to trust your colleagues. Likely story; especially since they are all fighting to get at the top of the ladder.

He asked me to show trust by closing my eyes. When I did so, he hit me with his newspaper. He then explained that I should not be too trusting, and I should know who to trust and who not to trust. He asked me to close my eyes again. I was reluctant. He promised me solemnly that he would not hit me with the newspaper. I closed my eyes. He hit me with a magazine and said, "I did not promise not to use a magazine, did I?"

I counted to ten to remain calm. I asked him to show me the magazine, then I hit him on the head twice and said, "I made no promise at all. You should not have given me the magazine!"

He said nothing and scribbled some notes in his book. Then he said, "Imagine you are the policeman in a crime scene. There has been a murder. You are interviewing the young lady who discovered the body. What is the very first thing she said on seeing the dead body?"

I screamed, "AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH !!!!!!!!!!!!"

He jumped out of his chair at my screaming. He accidentally knocked his cup and there was coffee all over his papers. He tried to soak it all up with his handkerchief and made a bigger mess all over his desk. His secretary came in the room to see what was going on with all the screaming. He tried to calm her down and said unconvincingly that all was well. There's nothing to worry about. She was suspicious and looked at both of us and left saying nothing.

He gathered all his soaking wet papers together and said, "that will be all, thank you!"

I left and never heard any more about that interview. I wonder if I passed or failed!

Size matters ... does it not?

I think the problem when you have too much time on your hands, with very little else to do, after you have done all the tasks you have been putting off for a while, and now you are scratching your head for something to occupy your time ... what a long introduction ... but let's continue ... deep breath ...

I think the problem in such circumstances of too much un-occupied time is that you become a little self-conscious. You start to analyse yourself, you start to look at yourself in the mirror. You compare. You consider whether size really matters. Has anyone noticed? Has anyone commented about it? Has anyone complained? If not, why worry about it?

I've been doing just that lately. Looking at the mirror and wondering whether size matters or whether anyone will notice or say something about it.

After all, it is always in full view. Someone is bound to see it and say something sooner or later.

I am sure it is not my imagination, but I have one ear slightly bigger than the other. I never noticed it before.

A few days ago whilst shaving I nicked myself. A very small cut near my ear. It bled a little. Just a drop or two. The sort of cut which is temporarily stopped by putting a piece of clean toilet paper or tissue on it until it stops bleeding. Where's the toilet paper when you need it most?

So I wrapped a towel round my head and went downstairs for some breakfast. Nearly fell down the stairs because the towel round my face reduced my vision.

Then I noticed the anomaly ... ... ... that's a nice word. Anomaly. Makes me sound learned when I say it. Anomaly ... it means something that deviates from what is standard. And deviates it certainly did.

I noticed the anomaly when I closed the fridge door and it nearly caught my ear in it. The door just brushed by my ear and I could hear the wind whistle as it swung shut. Reminded me of hearing the wind rush by when my teacher at school used to throw chalk at me for talking in class. He was a good shot. Never actually hit you but aimed the shot close enough to your head for you to notice.

And notice, I did. I looked in the mirror. Yes, the right ear was bigger than the left one. Distinctly so.

I looked in my wife's knitting and sewing bag and found her tape measure. I went back to the bathroom and looking at the mirror I measured and compared each ear.

I heard my wife say, "Have you been at my sewing bag?"

"Yes," I replied, "I just borrowed your tape measure!" (What a stupid thing to say).

"What ARE you measuring?" she asked.

I did not reply. I got dressed and went to the doctor's.

This time I did catch my ear in the car door as I shut it. That really hurt!

The doctor said, "Do you realise that you have come to see me more often than any other patient?"

I said, "Just as well. Otherwise you'd be out of business!"

He measured me ... I was right ... my right ear is a quarter of a centimetre longer than the left one.

The doctor told me not to worry about it. But I do ...

What do you think? Does size matter?

Curve Ball

No doubt many a priest has faced a complicated or perhaps a trick question from time to time from a member of his congregation. Never mind … it’s part of their job I suppose.

Remember that Jesus faced many a curve-ball by His opponents trying to catch Him out.

Father Ignatius is no exception.

He was visiting one of his parishioners in hospital the other day and quite unexpectedly came the curve-ball. It wasn’t meant in a malicious way at all; but more as a cry of help from a tired old body.

“You know Father,” said the patient lying in his hospital bed, “this is the third time this year that I’ve landed in hospital. It’s one check-up after another … and these wretched doctors can’t find what’s wrong with me!

“I sometimes think that God has it in for me.

“Do you think he loves all people the same? Because I can’t see it myself. Here I am in hospital yet again … whilst others are OK and walking out there freely.

“I think He has favorites and He looks after them better than others.

“What do you think Father; does God love every one the same?”

“No.” said Father Ignatius firmly.

The patient laughed.

“Now there’s a surprise … I thought you’d give me a lot of platitudes about us all being equal in the eyes of God; we’re all His children, and He loves us all the same … and yet you agree with me. Bravo Father Ignatius. So God does not love us the same. He has His favorites.”

“I did not say that,” replied the priest sitting by his friend’s bedside.

“Explain yourself then,” said the patient jovially.

“God does love us all,” continued Father Ignatius, “and His love has no favors towards one individual as opposed to the next. He loves us all equally in the sense that He created us all and He loves us even though we might sin and distance ourselves from Him.

“Yet His love is not the same towards everyone.”

“How so …” asked the patient with a glint of humor in his eyes.

“He loves each one of us according to our needs,” said Father Ignatius gently, “like an earthly parent would do.

“You have three children Fred; and I’m sure you love all three of them. You have no favorites.”

Fred nodded silently.

“However,” continued Father Ignatius, “let us imagine two of your children were very bright and would one day follow in your footsteps and manage your business. Whilst the third is perhaps less business minded, not very academic, and interested in doing his own thing … you’d still love him would you not?”

“Yes, of course. You know that Father!” said Fred sitting up in his bed.

“I know you would … but let’s take the analogy a little further. Suppose for instance one of your children had been born with an incurable illness … you would not love him any more, or any less than the other two; would you? You’d love them all the same but differently. If you see what I mean.”

“I think I do …” said the man with a smile.

“God loves all of us according to our needs.

“For example, some people are born very bright, and are well educated whilst others are not.

“I see them in church every Sunday. Some of our parishioners are well versed about religion and their walk with the Lord; whilst others, through a variety of circumstances, perhaps related to their background and up-bringing, are poorer in spirit. Their Faith and knowledge of the Lord is not as advanced as say, a theologian.

“Sure they believe and love the Lord; but their spirituality is simpler compared to others’. Because that’s all they know; that’s all they are able to comprehend.

“They love God, and pray as simply as they’ve been taught; and they try to obey His Word as best they can.

“Does God love them any the less than say an educated priest, a bishop or cardinal who have studied incessantly and are, supposedly, more pious?”

Fred laughed heartily at the mention of more pious clergy.

“I suppose not … He must love them all the same amount,” said Fred.

“Exactly … He loves them the same amount; but differently … each according to their need.

“And one more thing …” continued Father Ignatius, “He expects more from those who are educated and should know better.

“To those who have been given much, more is expected of them.

“So the educated clergy are expected to set a particularly good example to those they are meant to guide to Heaven … so I’d better watch out I suppose.”

Fred smiled as a nurse approached and interrupted the discussion.

“I have the results of your tests, Mr Temple,” she said indicating a private conversation.

“Oh don’t mind him …” chuckled Fred, “he’s a priest. He can always give me the last Sacrament before you dispatch me off!”

“Well sir … you are a little anemic and you need a lot of rest. It’s nothing serious and we’ll have you on your feet and out of here in no time” she said.

“That’s great … thank you” replied Fred as the nurse left.

“You see Fred,” said Father Ignatius, “God does love you differently. He obviously thought you needed to listen to a private sermon.

“One to one personal attention. You can’t have better than that!”

MORE FATHER IGNATIUS STORIES IN THIS BOOK

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Face the facts

The purpose of this Blog is to entertain, educate and inform. With this in mind here is a selection of facts you may wish to be aware of. Let me assure you that they are all true and have been well researched in a book of nonsense which I am writing.

If you ever use a tea bag to make yourself a cup of tea never throw the hot tea back in the trash bin as it may start a fire.

Always use a spoon rest when you have finished using your spoon. Leaving the spoon on the table top or work surface will make a stain of whatever you have used the spoon for.

The spoon rest is the world's most important invention since the invention of the spoon. A spoon rest is the most popular gift for people you do not like.

If you experience a sharp pain in the eye whilst drinking tea or coffee it is advisable to take the spoon out of the cup first.

If you suffer from flatulence do not buy a sound activated bedside lamp. The lamp that goes on and off when you tap your hands. A friend had such a lamp and whilst asleep he signalled a Morse SOS message with the lights going on and off. Neighbours phoned the police which came to his aid. 

When pursued, the centipede detaches one of his legs which he throws at his pursuer. The hunter stops to eat the leg and the centipede runs away to hide. Unfortunately, most of them get killed anyway when they return to retrieve their lost shoes.

The bar code you find on packets and on the back of books was invented by a zebra when it walked past the check-out desk at a supermarket and the cash machine bleeped.

An item that is far away may appear to be smaller than its real size. I once wondered why a golf ball appeared to be growing in size and then it hit me. 

More men cry in the cinema than women. I remember crying bitterly when watching The Sound of Music. The price of tickets, popcorn and soda nearly bankrupt me.

The fattest knight at King Arthur's round table was Sir Cumference. He acquired his size from too much pi.

 

When wearing a bikini, women reveal 90% of their body. Men are so polite they only look at the covered parts.

A recent study has found that women who carry a little extra weight, live longer than the men who mention it.

Now read this: