Anyone for Turdage?

Every family has a cutesy little game, often unique to them and a favourite to get them through some mundane daily chore. We have a special game which I like to call rather charmingly, 'Count the Dog Piles'. We often play it walking together towards school safe in the knowledge families which play together, stay together. I do however have an inner debate as to the rules of the game, for example what should class as one unit? Can an especially elongated or disjointed pile be counted in terms of portions or should one take in to account the personal situation of a dragged defecating dog? Does one presume the origin of discreet piles in close proximity as one beast or could communal doggy extraction play a part? Perhaps it is best for our family's sanity to underestimate as a turdage count in excess of 50, can make one reflect unfavourably on one's environ.

Once we have tired of this game or the weather conditions permit, there is another version called 'Count the sputum'. This however takes a strong constitution, unless one is looking towards adopting community minded behaviour and contribituing to another fav of the local area called 'Watch the Vomit Splats'.

Throwing the baby out with the bath water.

Years ago when I was a child or perhaps a teenager, I visited an old couple, armed with the excuse that I wanted to play with their kitten. Maybe the kitten was the reason for my visit or otherwise I truly enjoyed their company.

I suspect that back then, even to a couple in their 80's, my awkwardness was palpable and once I left their house to attend some prayer meeting or another they would mumble to each other 'That girl really needs to loosen up'. So, one visit I left their house not empty handed but with a box of 7 inch singles. Sadly record collectors I have little recollection of that box's content, condition or age. I remember only one, a certain Chuck Berry song 'My Dingaling'.

Many people cite Chuck as a great influence. After listening to that record I was confused by such subtle titillation. The next day I took out that box to the bin and haven't heard much from Chuck since.

Knock, Knock

Of late I have become a bit of an Internet stalker. Google has a lot to answer for. There once was a girl who befriended me when I was 16, shining a cosmic light into a dusty church hall gloom. For some reason our friendship did not make it through the University years. I have discovered that she is a prolific blogger and Internet publisher, active environmentalist and artist, perhaps living a little of a life I imagined as a young person. I have found myself having a cheeky check on the life of someone else and in turn questioning my own Internet footprint. This comparison along with January weather and Seasonal Self Pity has left me feeling a little melancholy.

Now my question is this should I blog during intermittent blue or red mist, or should I leave it until the sun shines through, will my audience of two keep hanging on for my witticisms or perhaps they will bear with me in the gloom. As a Carrie Bradshaw posed question: In a blog supossedly made up of humour when is expression too expressive? Whilst I leave you two to mull this over I will rake through this living for a side splitter.

Carry on regardless

Christmas is over the fat lady has sung. I am actually struggling to find any of my usual wit and apologise if today it would appear that this is just for the sake of it. Only I know myself very well, we have been cohabiting for 34 long years, I know that sometimes all I need is gentle coercion and at other times I need a toe capped boot up the jacksey.

So from me to all of you, yes all two of you, here is a metaphorical toe cap up the behind in a bid to keep some sort of momentum. In an attempt to keep the Behind of Life pert, spandexed, sequined and grooving giving it a few more years before sitting down.