The Word Cloud

And so say all of us – well, at least I do. 

http://www.irishtimes.com/newspaper/weekend/2012/0128/1224310849897.html

Her-indoors came home with this gem from her office...and its true.....

 Some things to ponder:
It takes 7 seconds for food to pass from mouth to stomach.
A human hair can hold 3kg.
The length of a penis is 3x the length of the thumb.
The femur is as hard as concrete.
A woman's heart beats faster then a man's.
 Women blink 2x as much as men.
We use 300 muscles just to keep our balance when we stand.
 A woman has read this entire paragraph.
The man is still looking at his thumb...

The Winner of our Joke Competition has only recently been subjected to a rather in-depth 'probe' from the gorgeous Debi & Emma. It has left his work in a near perfect state but unfortunately he is still quaking in a corner and not up to another session with them!

With the blessing of Guero Davilo the Cloud is passing the prize to the next best joke...so the new winner is Steve for his tattoist joke:
Bernard goes into a tattooist’s.
“I’d like you to tattoo my girlfriend’s name on my penis. Can you do that?”
“I can,” says the tattooist. “But it’s very painful. I’ll have to give you an anaesthetic. What’s your girlfriend’s name?”
“She’s called Wendy.”
So the tattooist does his stuff, but when Bernard comes round all he can see is a ‘W’ and a ‘Y’ on his cock.
“Don’t worry,” says the tattooist. “When you get an erection, your girlfriend’s name will be there in full. If you like, go into the toilets in the back and check it out.”
So Bernard goes into the toilets, does what he has to do, and there is his girlfriend’s name in all its glory. He’s very pleased. But just then another chap walks into the toilet and he’s got ‘W’ and ‘Y’ on his cock as well.
“Is your girlfriend’s name Wendy?” Bernard asks.
“Naaaah, mine say Welcome to Jamaica and have a nice day.”

Brace yourself Steve - Debi & Emma will be heading your way!

Some of you have acknowledged that I cleaned up a nice bit of writing that’s been around on the internet for a while and posted it here in the blog section. There was reasoning behind it, flawed or otherwise: it made a nice introductory lead in to this, which otherwise may not have held its own in the intriguing stakes. Frankly, it probably won’t anyway.

 

 

Health and Diet Versus Price and Cost

 

66 years have passed since the end of the Second World War. Many advances have been made in technology, medicine and health during that time, but in some ways we have regressed.

 

During World War II, it has been clearly demonstrated that people in general actually lived healthier lifestyles. This is contrary to what one might initially think, but rationing meant that luxury products (particularly fattier and sweeter food stuffs) were in short supply, so most people ate rather less of them. For that matter, most people ate considerably less food overall and obesity was not so... er... widespread. In relation, however, more fresh vegetables, fruit and wholemeal produce were consumed.

 

The availability of white bread was scarce because it required more processing, ingredient extraction, time and expense.  Therefore most people rarely had alternative bread-based options to full wholemeal brown bread, which was cheaper and easier to produce.

 

Somewhere between back in them days and now, marketers shifted the value perception of healthier food and we generally pay more for wholemeal or brown bread than the previously more expensive to make white loaves.  Right now, I don't know the cost breakdowns of brown versus white because they are more related to factors such as long-term economies of scale, overall unit sales and popularity. One thing is for certain, though: pricing strategies have caused a mindset shift in the population to such a degree that we now expect to pay more for healthier food, regardless of whether it actually costs more to get it on to store shelves and sell it.

 

What really gets me worked up is the wider picture of profiteering from healthy or environmentally friendly products and practices. In general terms in the UK, the more educated section of the population are more likely to want to be healthy and/or green. Or at least be seen to be. Education also correlates with wealth. Wealth correlates with an ability to pay more for things. So, for the most part, marketers set pricing strategies to deliberately take advantage of this, and their companies make tidy profit margins out of selling a healthy lifestyle.

 

It means that we pay a premium if we want to be healthy or green.  And it means that the less well off are priced out of the market, whatever their intention. Frankly, I find it immoral. And in a time of imposed austerity, that goes double.

Hi everyone! Kobal and I have teamed up to write a story together. To avoid messing up the Cloud with random ramblings, we have put the sections in our own blogs.

Kobal's is here, or:

http://cognisumpstories.posterous.com/tag/godsstory

Mine is here, or:

http://randomjaxx.posterous.com/

Mine won't be updated very often as I'm still busy with Southlander, but Kobal's section may be more productive.

**Feedback welcome!**

Thanks,

Jaxx & Kobal.

At the supermarket checkout this morning, the young cashier suggested I should bring my own bags because plastic bags weren't good for the environment. I apologised and explained, "We didn't have this green thing back in my earlier days."

 

The cashier responded, "That's our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment for future generations."

 

She was right about one thing: our generation didn't have the green thing in our day. So what did we have back then? After some reflection and soul-searching, here's what I remembered we did have...

 

Back then, we returned milk bottles, pop bottles and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled so it could use the same bottles repeatedly. They really were recycled.  But we didn't have the green thing back in our day.

 

We walked up stairs, because we didn't have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery store and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks. But she was right. We didn't have the green thing in our day.

 

Back then, we washed the baby's nappies because we didn't have the throw-away kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 240 volts; wind and solar power really did dry our clothes back in our early days. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing. But that young lady is right. We didn't have the green thing back in our day.

 

Back then, we had one TV or radio in the house, not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief, not a screen the size of Wales. In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric machines to do everything for us. When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used wadded up old newspapers to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap.

 

Back then, we didn't fire up an engine and burn petrol just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity. But she's right. We didn't have the green thing back then.

 

We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water. We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull. But we didn't have the green thing back then.

 

Back then, people took the bus, and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their mums into a 24-hour taxi service. We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerised gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites two thousand miles out in space in order to find the nearest pizza joint. But isn't it sad that the current generation laments how wasteful we older folks were just because we didn't have the green thing back then?

It was at some point, between the passing of the old year and the emerging of the new, that I overdosed on Jane Austen.  A week’s rural retreat would be of no avail, as I suspect  I might well be encouraged in the habit.   Self medication has been attempted, with doses of Simenon; Margaret Allingham, Caleb Carr a Study in Sherlock’  and the last work of Michael Holroyd which, unfortunately, resulted in a relapse.

But I feel that I am on the mend.

The cause  of my addiction has been a mention of ‘breach of promise’ in ‘Pride and Prejudice’ 

In previous blogs, I wrote  about a  ‘breach of promise’ case that I had been researching  and I contemplated some sort of drama in which the narrative is constructed out of genealogical research. (This is an an interest of mine and also, partly, a professional concern.)   This led me to consider a plot where an Australian couple discover they are descended from characters in ‘Pride and Prejudice’   I did see comic potential in this.  For example, a descendant of Darcy could have become a Basil Fawlty character, who is worried about the loss of silver plate, as visitors inspect Pemberley - now open to the public for a fee.

One of the progammes on TV was about a Jane Austen cult and the industry that had been built around it.  Another horrifying programme was about Janeites - a secret society with it’s own high priestess. I would be trespassing on sacred texts and, what is worse, I would have to write funny stuff too!  It is best left alone?  But once these things start?  

It is my day off work and I am going shopping in London for a digital camera.  I have never bought one of these.   I saw one that might do - in a sale - but I hope the sale is now finished, but the same camera is for sale at ‘John Lewis’ for about the same price.  I cannot make decisions, but feel I have to buy one, or I will spend the next year unable to decide.

To see someone who stuns the eyes,
Is a rare experience indeed.
An instant addiction, like no other,
The desire to know them, a ferocious need.

Long, black hair, lavish and soft,
Ivory skin, as pale as bone.
Tall and lean but muscular and strong,
He radiates power though he’s brooding and alone.

Dark clothes, a long, black coat,
Strong male features, sadness in his face.
His brow is furrowed; he’s deep in thought,
His fingers twitch, he starts to pace.

Suddenly he turns, I catch his eye,
He touches his lip with his tongue.
With a smile full of promise, a tease’s expression,
The wind picks up and the man is gone.

I began stalking her three weeks ago.
Followed her through the park,
Making sure she arrived home safely.
I watched her in the dark.
I told myself it was just this once.
An aberration not to be repeated
Lest she find out and is frightened away.
But my will is gone, I’ve been defeated.

I was obsessed with her, had been for months.
Thoughts of her filled every waking hour
And then she haunted me in all my dreams,
Holding me captive with her nameless power.
I had already crossed the ethical line
When I agreed to see her again.
I knew what lay in my heart for her,
But did not care that it’d bring me pain.

I can watch her for hours now,
Outside her window, I hide in darkness.
I watch her prepare and cook her dinner
It’s all completely and utterly harmless.
I take note of the foods she likes,
And tends to cook with the most,
So that when she finally falls for me,
I can act like her perfect host.

I’m seeing her tonight at our usual time
I look forward to it so much
Because she’s mine for a whole hour,
Close enough to touch.
It’s not just lust I feel for her,
I love her, heart and soul.
I’ll do all I can to help her,
Because that’s my job, my role.

She arrives on time, she‘s rarely late,
And settles down in my comfy chair.
Her green eyes are sad and tired today
And there are tangles in her long, dark hair.
The skin beneath her eyes looks bruised
Like she hasn’t slept in some time.
Her skin is as pale as I’ve ever seen it,
She’s beautiful, sublime.

She begins to speak and I lose myself
In all that she is. I’m never prepared.
She tells me how she’s been feeling this week,
That she’s paranoid, lost and scared.
Fearful of a terrible unknown threat.
Lurking in the night.
She swore she heard someone creeping around.
Now she can’t turn out the light.

Then the hour is over, she has to leave
And I ache as I say good bye
I tell her not to be afraid
I don‘t want her to cry.
There’s no one watching her through her windows
At night when she‘s alone.
Those noises she heard are simply the wind,
No one is sneaking around her home.

She need not feel scared to undress or shower,
And hide behind the wall.
No one can see her naked body,
There’s nobody looking at all.
She smiles at me and says thank you
For being there for her.
I nod and say you’re welcome,
As that familiar feeling stirs.

I get to her home as soon as I can
And settle outside to observe.
I feel the tension strum through my body,
As I prepare and gather my nerve.
I’m ready now, I know it’s time.
It’s deadly quiet, twelve o’clock.
I have to have her, make her mine,
I silently break her window lock.