The Befouled Weakly News
28 June 2009 Good morning to you all. This week’s edition is coming to you from the “It never rains but it pours” division of the Befouled Weakly News. Firstly, I guess we have to concede that this week was considerably less hectic than last, which is a blessing and the weather for the first part of the week was pretty good. I even sneaked two decent bike rides out of it. Friday, however, was overcast and brought some rain along with a succession of tedious (and expensive) mini-crises with Penelope’s car. Firstly, a few weeks ago the windscreen seemed to be leaking following a torrential downpour; certainly the floor on the passenger side of the car was soaking wet and this seemed to coincide with a deluge so it was a fairly obvious deduction to make. Since the windscreen had been replaced less than a year ago Pen took it back to the firm in Northampton to have them investigate and, hopefully, put it right. Of course, they couldn't find anything amiss but at some point during the proceedings in attempting to open the hood they managed (we presume) to completely break the release cable for the hood (“bonnet” in English – isn’t that sweet?). Naturally, Penny did not notice this until some days later when she wanted to check her oil and discovered that she could not open the hood. The very friendly and helpful chaps at the local garage could not open the hood; the AA rescue guy who came out could not open the hood. Not surprisingly, the windscreen people declined to accept any responsibility for the mishap – “You don’t have any proof, do you?” So, it had to go into town to the "proper" (and expensive) Vauxhall dealer in Banbury who seemingly are the only motor mechanics in the civilised world who posses the sacred knowledge of how to release a Vauxhall hood/bonnet when the cable has gone. So, on Friday morning Penelope sets off only to get part of the way there when an idiot light on the instrument panel illuminates itself to tell her that her emissions control was on the blink and it would do irreparable damage to the catalytic converter. Great! Eventually, she nurses it into town and gets to the garage where they set about fixing the hood cable and investigating the emissions issue. Fortunately, no damage to the catalytic converter and the fault is eliminated by replacing the spark plugs. However, as they are diagnosing and rectifying the various issues, they also discover that the exhaust is just about rusted through. All told, Penny had a happy Friday enjoying some of the more salubrious parts of Banbury and the car has a new hood release cable, new spark plugs and a new exhaust system. None of it planned and all of it expensive! Great! Those of you who are coming over for the festivities later this summer will hopefully be able to enjoy the fruits of my Father’s Day gift from Nick. It seems he had met some folks who run a domestic cleaning organisation (rather similar, I am guessing, to the Merry Maids Mom and Dad had in Prescott). He suggested that they should do Gift Vouchers which they thought was a great idea. So, by way of a gift token from him to me, we have the services of two domestic helpers for two hours at a time of our choosing. Naturally, I am assuming that these two domestic helpers will be young, nubile ladies but, in reality, I suspect not. Still, we shall no doubt find some additional domestic help most welcome for a deep, deep clean prior to everyone’s arrival later this summer. So, for those of you who are coming this summer, if the quality of cleanliness does not come up to your exacting standards, we can always blame Nick’s Father’s Day present. Now that the basketball playoffs are over there is a distinct absence of American sport on the television, much to Penny’s delight and my consternation. The baseball, which we used to have two nights a week throughout the season, is no more and good as the highlights are on MLB.com, they just don’t cut it. The baseball used to be shown on Channel 5; in the current economic climate, however, they took the view that the advertising revenue for a broadcast of some obscure, niche sport from about midnight to three in the morning was insufficient and so they’ve dropped it. I am guessing/hoping that they will at least bring us the playoffs but I’ve not heard any news. All very upsetting. The following was on the BBC site earlier in the week – scientists in India are developing non-lethal forms of chemical warfare:
All of which leads to another article on the BBC site about an Indian woman, Anandita Dutta Tamuly, who set a world record for consuming 51 “Ghost Chillies” in a two minute span. Apparently, she “felt terrible” but only because she had managed to gobble 60 in a previous practice attempt. It seems that the Ghost Chilli is the world's spiciest at more than one million Scoville units, the measure of spiciness, twice the heat of its closest rival. A standard green chilli has about 1,500 units. I wonder if the Indian security services have considered simply asking Tamuly to breath on would-be rioters – surely that would be just as effective as a chilli grenade? A couple of photographs of poppies from a ramble with Molly earlier in the week.
And finally, a very cool optical illusion based on colour. Love to you all, Greg The Armless Bell ringers There was a monastery in France at the edge of a cliff overlooking a beautiful valley, and because its bells could be heard over such a wide area, it developed a reputation for attracting only the finest bell ringers in the country. There was always a bit of dread when a bell ringer passed on or retired, and one year, when they spread the word of their need for a new master, there was a dearth of qualified candidates. They would have been good enough for any other monastery, but not this one. Better to have silent bells than anything less than the best. As they were despairing at the quality of candidates, a man with no arms paid a visit to apply for the position. The monks were amazed and protested that this was no time for joking. But the man insisted, said he was from a family of famous bell ringers, and he would show them what he could do. He drew back, lowered his head, and charged full speed at the bell. The monks was horrified, but could not stop him. And the sound -- oh my, you should have been there! It was indeed a sound worthy of that monastery. It rang throughout the valley, and people everywhere stopped in their tracks and nodded to each other that at last a worthy bell ringer had been found. But alas, it was not to be. For the impact so stunned the poor armless man that he stumbled dizzily and fell over the cliff. The head monk ran down the steps to where a crowd had gathered, and a policeman spoke to him. "Do you know this man?" The monk sighed, "No, but his face rings a bell." The search continued. One day not long after, another armless man showed up and presented himself as the previous man's brother. He was there to uphold the family honour, and would show them what a good bell ringer could do. The monks protested, but too late -- he also drew back and charged full speed into the bell. And once again, the most beautiful sound pealed out over the valley, such that even the birds circled around to see what was happening. And once again, he was so stunned that he too fell over the cliff in a daze. Once again the head monk scrambled down the stairs to meet the crowd and a policeman. Again he was asked if he knew the deceased. "No, but he's a dead ringer for his brother." Somehow I don’t think these are their real names: Mr. White, the biology professor, at a posh suburban girl's school, asked during class, "Miss Smith, would you name the organ in the human body, which under the appropriate conditions, expands to six times it's normal size, and define the conditions." Miss Smith gasped, then said snottily, "Mr. White, I don't think that is a proper question to ask me. I assure you that my parents will hear of this." With that, she sat down red-faced. Unperturbed, Mr. White called on Miss Jones, and asked the same question. Miss Jones, with complete composure replied, "The pupil of the eye, in dim light." "Correct," said Mr. White. "Now, Miss Smith, I have three things to say to you: one, you have not studied the chapter I assigned. Two, you have a dirty mind. And three, you will someday be faced with a dreadful disappointment." Housework used to be a woman's job, but one evening, Janice arrived home from work to find the children bathed, a load of laundry in the washer and another in the dryer. Dinner was on the stove, and the table set. She was astonished! It turns out that Charles had gotten home early and read a bit of the old Cosmopolitan she had left out. The featured article on the cover informed him that wives who work full-time and had to do their own housework were too tired to have sex. The night went very well. The next day, Janice told her friends all about it. "We had a great dinner. Charles even cleaned up the kitchen! He helped the kids do their homework, folded all the laundry and put it away. It was really an amazing evening." "But what about the hot sex afterward?" asked her friends. "Oh, that," Janice said. "Well, Charles was too tired...."
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Indian defence scientists are planning to put one of the world's hottest chilli powders into hand grenades.
