Pitchin'

Sunday morning, 6am getting ready to go and stand in a frosty field full of sofas, assorted ornaments, fill a bag with clothes for 50p stalls and the obligatory unwanted kitchen and exercise equipment. It's been a long time since I have been to an early morning car boot sale and my things have changed. You get the usual traders rummaging through your boxes as you try to unload the car like vultures picking over bones, that was expected, what wasn't expected was the sheer amount of weird things you manage to shift over the course of the morning. I mean, if I was going to list a rabbit ravaged child gate and I mean ravaged I don't think it would get much attention on eBay but move it into a field and offer it at the bargain price of a few quid and people fight over it. It was the Facebook of eBay, real buyers, real money, real cold.

So feeling like I was on the set of Cash In The Car Booty Attic Big Deal Roadshow and taking hints from our neighbour, a car booter of nineteen years who at one point used to have a stall over thirty foot long that took him two hours to set up we got stuck in. We soon realised that you have to talk certain things up though and I found myself saying things like 'That would look great on your mantelpiece or if you don't like it the mantelpiece of somebody you don't like' and 'It looks difficult but rub it on your face and the wrinkles will drop away'

We had a random person that went through the entire stall and loved everything, including the fence sprayer and wooden cock. I suppose that needs some explaining, I'm not saying our person loved wooden cock before you jump to conclusions and imagine that our stall sold unsavoury items hidden amongst the gems, we had a wooden cock, as in bird, that is difficult to love, but they loved it. Didn't buy it though and they were followed by a stroker.

What's a stroker? Well, it's a person that goes up and down the stall fondling everything and finishes with stroking the fabric then walking off. Strange, are you a looker or a stroker? Another client, although client sounds like we provided a service of some disreputable nature, started a discussion on rubber keyboards and a broken membrane followed by a history of Windows 3.11, all this to sell a 50p PC game. Still, it was fun, interesting and educational, I shall call it Fintercational.

Boy can people haggle though, it's always the quiet ones I tell you.

'How much for the two candlesticks?"

£5 the pair, for they are a very nice pair.

'I'll give you a quid'

A quid? No, that's far too low, £4.50 but they are worth a lot more

How about £1.10?

It's at points like this you want to scream, I mean, it's hardly in the spirit of haggling is it? Going up in increments of 10p is mind numbing. By the time we had got to £1.70 and I was still at £4.50 I think we knew we were on to a loser.

So how much are you willing to go up to?

'£2.10'

Can't do that I'm afraid.

'How much is the small rabbit?'

50p

'Oh, I'll think about it, Mmmm, go on then I'll have it'

Ok, here you go...

'Got change for a £20?' He said as he pulled one out from a wad of £10,000. Never mind the candle sticks he had enough to buy my car.

You can never tell, everything we said wouldn't sell sold, things we earmarked as goers garnered no interest whatsoever. It was quite a successful morning despite the cold, over half the stuff had gone and our garage heaved a sigh of relief.

So welcome to our stall, it's not pretty I admit, but we have some bargains still available to go to a loving home, all offers considered, they would look lovely on your mantelpiece / bedside table / kitchen unit and really suit you sir or madam.

Three Enchantica fantasy figures for example, a dragon, and two trolls finely crafted, the dragon even has its signed certificate or maybe you would like a floral decorated cat? Maybe a floral bunny or two? No? OK, let's rummage a little further...

Surely you can't ignore a new Cluedo boxed game? Maybe gardening and cooking is your thing, if so these fine books on herbs and cacti are just the ticket. How much I hear you say? 50p each, what a bargain!

Something for everyone on our stall, Metallica videos mixed with Paintshop Pro 7 Gold edition, see you really can't go wrong, it's all got to go!

 

www.petersmithcollective.co.uk Home Of Everything Impossimal

Mysteries Of The Skies

After the startling revelations with yesterday's ground breaking supernatural slot today I have invited Arthur Brain founder of the Bureau Understanding Foreign Flight Objects Of Non-terrestrial Subjects or BUFFOONS for short. So Arthur, just what is a UFO?

'UFO's are unidentified frying objects, such as burnt bacon or frazzled sausages mysteriously flying through the air. We have some particularly good examples of fritters flying in formation over Big Ben. One of our members once photographed a scorched beef burger landing in the car park of Asda, passersby were astounded and two women fainted as it was joined by a hash brown and an overcooked chippolata.'

Ahem, we may have crossed purposes here Arthur, I was talking about the alien type of UFO, you know the ones that look like light fittings or dustbin lids thrown in to the air and photographed badly.

'I thought you invited me to talk about my close encounter with a full English breakfast that cornered me on the sea front in Skegness?'

No Arthur.

'Oh, that's a pity. I did see a UFO once though?'

Yes? tell us about it.

It was about six o'clock sometime in the seventies and I was watching the television when suddenly everything went black, even the television only to be replaced by a mysterious globe spinning ominously with the words BBC 1 written underneath it, I remember it clearly as I nearly dropped my biscuit in my tea. It was only on for an instant then the screen went black again and a booming voice shouted SPACE, THE FINAL FRONTIER and an enormous UFO flew straight at me. I dropped scalding tea on my lap and fell off the sofa, Muriel, my wife screamed and ran from the room. Scrambling around the back of the sofa I lay there for thirty minutes listening to the aliens in my living room, I could only make out certain words like Scottiekirk and Spork but I'm sure they did say We Come In Peace but that I believe was just a ruse to get me to come up from behind the curtain where I had managed to scramble to after my sofa position became compromised. Here, let me draw you what I saw...'

'See, a UFO, not very often you get such detail in a drawing, I was a draughtsman did you know so I know detail. In fact I was so shaken that the very next day armed with a camera I was determined to capture them on film. Around midday I was making a jam sandwich when I glanced out of the window and froze, there hanging in the air was an enormous cigar shaped UFO, watching me spread the butter. Grabbing my camera I managed to get a quick shot of it before it whooshed away. I have never shown this to anyone before as I believe it would change the worlds opinions on UFOs for ever.'

Well readers it looks like we have an exclusive on our hands, for the first time in print a genuine certified UFO photo, unedited and possibly the finest UFO ever captured on film.

Wow! That's amazing Arthur, it's like just hanging there. You can even make out some markings on the side, it looks like eiprahs, obviously some strange star dialect. What happened next?

'I finished buttering and ate my sandwich.'

No, what happened after that?

'Oh, I see, well here's the thing, I returned to the sitting room and flicked on the television to see if the news had reported my mysterious object and guess what?'

What?

'Aliens had taken over my television again.'

Really? How did you know?

They looked strange and pink if I remember and they spoke in a kind of whistle. I was mesmerised, they had me under some kind of tractor ray beam and I watched them experimenting with things from our world then as suddenly as they came they disappeared and the newsreader Richard Baker came on but didn't mention my flying cigar shaped object or indeed my pink aliens. Here, give me the pen I will draw one for you...'

Double wow! You heard it here first folks, aliens and UFO's do exist, watch the skies!

Tomorrow we explore the mysteries of the deep with Jaques Custardo and hear the frightening story of the time he wrestled with the Loch Ness Monster only to have the fight broken up by an underwater Kraken. Epic stuff I'm sure.

 

www.petersmithcollective.co.uk Home Of Everything Impossimal

Believe

Boo! Bet that scared you! Ghosts, are they real? Today's blog deals with the serious issue of the spirit world and we are joined by special guest the famous ghost hunter Derek Accordian. Used to creeping around neighbourhoods at night dressed in black even though he has a restraining order against him Derek is no stranger to the unexplained isn't that right Derek?

'Yes, I remember once when I was at the Fox & Crown, a public house from the 1850's where I had been on the trail of the phantom of the optics, a trail that involved me trying them all out to discover if there was any difference in taste only to find myself plunged into the unknown as I left the pub around 1:30am. I strode outside and suddenly loss control of my movements, it was as if a spirit had entered me and was controlling me from within. Even my speech became affected and I found I was swearing at lamp posts and cars. Further research the next day uncovered information that the Fox & Crown used to be a notorious drinking establishment famous for a heavy drinker called Simon The Sot, who apparently according to the records used to get, and I quote, 'blinde drunk and spoken foul wordes until he fell asleep'. He was found drowned one morning upside down in a horse trough with his trousers around his ankles, a likely candidate to return and haunt the living. I can only assume that Simon The Sot had entered one of the optics and I unknowingly drank him causing my possession.'

Very interesting Derek, do you have any tips for aspiring Ghost Hunters? I see you have bought a handy list of useful items...

One question Derek, graphite for fingerprints? Do ghosts leave fingerprints?

'Yes, it's a well known fact. I first discovered this whilst trapped in the toilets at the Lucky Sailor, a pub I frequented. The toilet cubicle was supposed to be haunted by unpleasant odours and strange sounds so I was investigating. Moments before I entered the cubicle I detected a frightening aroma coming from inside so I yanked the door open only to see something dark disappearing down the toilet. I felt its presence immediately and the aroma clung to my clothes, in fact it took several washes to remove it. Anyway since I knew the spirit had just manifested itself I decided to look for signs that it had been there. Only I had touched the flush handle so out came the graphite and lo and behold there were hundreds of sets of fingerprints, one of which must be the ghost. Spooky stuff.'

What about spirit photography Derek, do you believe that we can capture a ghost on film?

'Of course, what I am about to show you has never been see before, it's conclusive proof that ghosts exist. I must warn you now the photograph is quite shocking and horrific, it was taken in a bedroom of a normal council house where the residents had been haunted by the ghost of a retired barber called Mr Clipper. He used to trim them in their sleep and mysterious pots of brylcreme used to appear along with small pieces of hair trapped in the bath sponges. The family were terrified they may wake up one morning with a bob or worse still a mullet. For a full blown manifestation to be caught on camera like this required patience. I stayed with the family for seven months until I was thrown out after snapping this conclusive proof.

Remember, once seen, never forgotten, it's horrendous, a twisted old man brandishing a lethal looking pair of scissors. Shortly after taking this I fainted and woke up with a short back and sides.'

Conclusive proof I'm sure you will agree. I rest my case, ghosts are real. Don't have nightmares!

 

www.petersmithcollective.co.uk Home Of Everything Impossimal

K9PEE

Just when you wanted it all to end the Doctor is back! Travelling in his extraordinary postbox shaped time machine that moves through time and space under severe restrictions such as only being able to travel between 9am and 5pm on the same day and only being able to transport the Doctor to supermarkets Doctor Do's adventures are legendary amongst Do Do's, the Doctors biggest fans, let us join the Doctor on his latest adventure.

For those of you unfamiliar with the good doctors adventures you can find the previous episode here

Previous episodes available

Episode 1 - Doctor Do And The Horlicks - click here

Episode 2 - Doctor Do Run Run And Rise Of The Garlics - click here

Today's episode is Doctor Do Goes Dogging

Sat scrunched up in the Tardydis the Doctor could barely see the 'on offer' leaflet from his local Murrysons. It had become the highlight of the week when it plopped through the Tardydis slot every Wednesday, around tea time, although sometimes it would be late and the Doctor would get anxious about missing a bargain. Such fine fare and all at reasonable prices, the good Doctor loved being thrifty and lived lavishly on tinned peas and cola, although sometimes he was rather naughty and allowed himself to tuck in to tinned sweet corn instead. This is the life he thought as he struck a match to lighten the gloom.

'Wow! Tinned peas are down to 27p, I must stock up! Come along K9PEE let's go and fill our trolleys with goodness for tonight we feast!'

K9PEE was a tin of beans that barked and had accompanied the Doctor on many an adventure after releasing K9PEE in a dramatic rescue involving blamange, a trampoline and two goats at the local Spar branch in Chipping Norton. K9PEE was gone, hunting around the two square feet Tardydis interior and checking all his pockets the Doctor became more and more frantic. 'Noooo! K9PEE has been kidnapped! I must rescue him!'

The Doctor squoze out of the Tardydis postbox door as quickly as possible and dived into the Murrysons store where he was parked. It was 5:45pm and full of single shoppers. 'Damn, everyone's cooking for one, this is going to be harder than I thought'. He was right, single shoppers tend to buy tinned and ready meals, any one of them could be the kidnapper. A muffled woof from around aisle six confirmed his suspicions but he could not accurately locate the source as an announcement of a spillage on aisle two drowned out the barking. The Doctor dashed over to the meat counter for a better view scanning baskets as he went. At the end of aisle six was a lone shopper, a middle aged lady with a basket, from this distance he could see several tins bouncing about.

'I'm here K9PEE!!!' The Doctor yelled as he ran, slid and rugby tackled her to the ground. Wrestling with her limp unconscious body he pulled out the basket from underneath and rooted through the contents. 'Talk to me K9PEE!' the Doctor pleaded but he was greeted with silence. Picking up the cans he realised they were the wrong brand. 'Sorry!' the Doctor shouted as he ran away.

After making several other 'mistakes' he found himself in aisle two, tinned produce. A feint woof came from one of the displays. A pyramid of baked beans had been stacked at the end of the aisle, exactly where the woof emanated from. But before the Doctor could investigate a burly Murryson guardian of the store after witnessing the customer carnage on CCTV strode in front of the display. 'You're nicked my son.'

'Kidnapper!!!!' The Doctor yelled as he hurled down the aisle hands outstretched to grapple his foe. Failing to heed the early warning of a spillage the Doctor hit a spilt milk patch and his feet slid from underneath him. Travelling at speed on his back turtle like with his feet extended he connected exactly with the security guards Crown Jewels. With a mighty Ooooooffff and tears streaming down his face the security guard crashed backwards into the tinned bean pyramid, hit the edge of the bread counter and landed face down in the muffins.

The Doctor had plenty of time to reflect from his prison hospital bed, K9PEE didn't exist, it had all been a misguided trip after eating an out of date tin of peas and mixing his cola's. 'Silly old me' he chortled. Just then he heard the bedpan moo.

'Daisy Loo La is that you?, I haven't seen you in years you little tease' the Doctor caressed the full bedpan in his arms. 'I'll take that you dirty boy!' said the matron as she entered. 'Kidnapper!!' Yelled the Doctor and leaped out of bed...

Pending further charges for bedpan battery the Doctor reflected on the day. 'I never did get those peas did I K9PEE? K9PEE? Where are you?? Oh, No! Kidnapped again! I must find you!' said the Doctor with some urgency as he tried to leap out of bed only the be restrained by the straps.

 

www.petersmithcollective.co.uk Home Of Everything Impossimal

Take A Seat

With the party season fast approaching this handy guide will help you become the perfect 'Come Dine With Me' guest. At no expense I have enlisted the help of Reginald Oscar Smyth Smyth Ponsonby Wooster Comfy Cushion, a renowned butler to the stars to compile this etiquette bible.

Manners

Maintain the correct posture at all times. Hold onto your cutlery with both elbows on the table so they remain at ninety degrees. Bang them occasionally if the food is not arriving fast enough. All drinks must be slurped, the same goes for soup and spaghetti.

When dining it is acceptable, indeed encouraged by people of a certain social standing to gobble your food as fast as possible, achieve it at greater speed by moving all the food to create a line down the centre of the plate then dispensing of all cutlery pick up the said plate and tip the food into your mouth, eat this with your mouth open at all times. Once complete burp loudly, pass wind if you can and announce that it was indeed fine grub and you will be passing a mountain tomorrow when it gets through your system. This acts as an indicator to your hosts that you are indeed enjoying their food and your manner dictates that you come from a privileged background.

Seating

Sit down. Anywhere you like, even at the head of the table or next to a guest you have taken a shine too. Talk about medical procedures, illness, religion and sex freely, boast about everything and interrupt other guests as they will find it amusing. Get up and get yourself another drink if you are running dry and feel free to pop in to the kitchen and interfere with the cooking, adding salt if required. Forget napkins, tuck the table cloth into your clothing and wipe your hands on the curtains.

Some Do's for the table

DO spit unwanted food into plant pots, hankies etc.

DO kick other guests under the table.

DO rest your arms on the back of other guests chairs.

Eating

Talk with your mouthful to keep the conversation going. Point at fellow guests with your knife to get your point across and drop the occasional piece of cutlery so you can legitimately get under the table and have a look around. Make sure your elbows hit fellow guests when eating and don't forget to hit them on the back after you tell a raunchy joke.

In between courses it is permittable to pick your teeth or nose, use anything that is at hand, toothpicks, matches and spoons are your friend. Photograph courses and post them on Facebook and Instagram with witty captions like "For what I am about to receive the pigs have just refused" and "lol". If you don't like something make a fuss, hosts like nothing better than a guest that speaks their mind. Don't like turnips? then tell them they have cooked the most awful food you have ever tasted in your life and spit it back out onto your plate.

Food and how to tackle it.

Asparagus - long thin and green you may not be familiar with this, put one up each nostril and scare the host by hiding behind a door if you wish to be flash, otherwise just pick it up and push it in like one long train, it is considered offensive to bite it before it is all inserted. Quiz fellow guests on wether asparagus makes their pee smell and ask for proof.

Cheese - no matter what cheeses are presented always massacre them before other guests by cutting them into small pieces no bigger than 1cm square. Soft cheeses may of course be flattened by using the back of a spoon or a side plate.

Escargots - snails. Flatly refuse to eat snails as they remind you of Brian the Snail from The Magic Roundabout. Have a hissy fit if any other guests eat one and proclaim they have murdered Brian. Stab them in the back of the hand with a fork if they try to eat another.

Fish - if its not fish fingers its not real fish so avoid all 'fresh' fish as imposters. If you must eat fish cover it in brown sauce first to mask the unnatural 'fishy' taste.

Spillages

If you spill red wine immediately take the white wine and throw it over your host for good luck and to further increase your luck throw salt onto the stain and rub it in. Apply brown or red sauce to detract from the awful red wine colour you will leave, a splash of colour never hurt any one.

Drink

Yes please! Champagne corks should be fired off at any fragile objects, breaking ornaments with corks is a skill admired by many so shake any bottles of fizz before opening for maximum force. Guests at the end of a night should be incapable of coherrant speech and walk as if their legs have not been introduced to each other, if this is not the case make sure you have a skin full before dining. Spiking drinks is considered a hoot as is shot gunning.

Useful Dinner Party Phrases

'Nice spread' Polite way to compliment a guest.

'Are you a leg or breast man?' Useful for chicken courses.

'I'll have a bit of dick please' Common phrase for a popular pudding.

'Get your baps out' Use when asking for bread rolls.

'I see you don't do cooking' Use when any course lacks pazazz.

'Quiet everyone, quiet. There's someone at the door' Pleasant way to announce the breaking of wind.

What To Wear

For fancy dress go naked with bits of sand paper over your naughty bits for a unique take on Dick Emery, otherwise go dressed exactly as your host and mock them all night. Hilarious. For evening dress wear what you would wear at home, pyjamas, slippers, nightdress, whatever takes your fancy, for extra points turn up with rollers in your hair and carrying a half drank bottle of scotch. Going to a black tie event? Then do just that, go starkers apart from a black tie, it's expected at these posh do's.

Other Useful Things

Arrive late, slump in all chairs and appear uninterested and yawn if you find somebody boring. Allow your tongue to meet your fork before it enters your mouth. Offer to cut other people's food up if you think they are unable.

Finally, Conversation and Opening Lines For Winning Topics.

'Did you know it's possible to guess someone's sex with 95% accuracy just by smelling their breath?'

'The average person will pass around 1,100 gallons of urine during their lifetime.'

'I own 16,526 used toilet rolls from around the world, would you like to see them?'

'Touch this. Doctors are baffled but its not contagious I'm told even though its weeping'

'The last time I went to a dinner party I had to be forcibly ejected after projectile vomiting and assaulting the other guests.'

'You would never guess I have been in prison for poisoning would you?'

'Have you ever crouched naked over a mirror?'

Hope this will be some help during the party period, I'm sure there's some hints there that we all can benefit from. Tomorrow how to apologise to all your guests when they return from the hospitals stomach pump room.

 

www.petersmithcollective.co.uk Home Of Everything Impossimal

Button

Gradually Jayne is building a button empire, with buttons coming in from all directions she has been kept busy grading them into colours and sizes for ease of use. It's amazing at the variety, all different shapes, sizes and colours, from the beautiful mother of pearl type to the hideous brown buttons resembling crap chocolates they are all here.

What I didn't expect to turn up is eyes. No silly, not real eyes but plastic ones including the googly type ones that I originally based the Impossimals eyes on. Googly eyes, especially mine, seem to be the fashion at the moment with childhood memories shattered at every turn so they seemed quite apt. You will be telling me next that a popular moustached wrestler much admired by young fans has made a rude video. Oh no!

Anyway, plastic eyes used to fascinate me but I don't know why really because they are not realistic are they and they have a peculiar glazed look that gives any stuffed toy a bit of a sinister feel. Still, I popped them in a jar for later, you never know they might come in use for Halloween or something.

As you can see today's blog is a ramble again as I have been in the studio painting a few things for next year gradually going stir crazy, one favourite I have been painting though contains bunnies.

I have only just started this one so its going to take some time to complete but I wanted to show an entire family in one piece adding all the elements from previous work with the addition of a brand new colour palette to show them off. It's been a busy few months, this is one of six other pieces I have been working on along with other side projects to compliment them and should form part of my Impossimal releases some time in 2013.

In an update to the Christmas Impossimal Children's Competition in association with the Evergreen Art Cafe, see www.petersmithcollective.co.uk for details and click on the link, we have also planned two special Christmas With The Impossimals events, one to be held in Chester and a second in Solihull, more details a little later but they should be great events with plenty of fun to be had and of course oodles of Impossimals too!

 

www.petersmithcollective.co.uk Home Of Everything Impossimal

Lean Green Eating Machine

Hi, Jura here, after all the silliness that the blog has experienced over the last few days I thought I would inject a bit of intelligent discussion rarely seen in this blog and give you an update on the menu at Bunnyopolis. Normally at this time of year we would be dining on plenty of fresh greens and tomatoes for potassium, a healthier alternative to banana which helps me to keep my slim figure unlike my sister Iona who, lets be frank here, likes her food. Did you know she even hoovers up the dust from the pelleted food we have? No, really, she can often be found licking the tray, I have told her before, a moment on the lips a lifetime on the hips dear. Anyway, I'll save that discussion for another day when I shall tell you all about my secret bunny diet, Eat Green To Be Lean is my new book available at all good bookshops and direct from Bunnyopolis, I will even personalise them for you by nibbling the corner.

The summer has not been good for Bunnyopolis fodder, the tomatoes for example have been trimmed from their plants and left to ripen. Normally there is only a quarter of this but our wretched summer has delayed the ripening of everything planted.

Apart from the chillies, although we are told we are not allowed to eat them as they are something called hot and would burn our lips which is a shame as they look very pretty.

Our biggest nom noms is down to the last few broccoli plants, nasty caterpillars have played havoc with them and we seemed to have had loads more than previous years even though I have seen mummy and daddy playing tennis with them. One day daddy hit three in a row, I wonder if he won?

Most of the time though I spend trying to look perfect by practising my sitting pretty in the garden, this is me looking gorgeous. Sometimes I stretch out to make a perfect bunny arc and other times I will delicately canter around the garden flicking my ears back pretending I'm a pony.

Must go now, Aaran is coming and he's wondering why I'm talking to a camera, he's thinks he's in charge but we all know who's top bunny at Bunnyopolis don't we readers?

 

www.petersmithcollective.co.uk Home Of Everything Impossimal

Brond

I wasn't going to do a blog entry today until I came across this in the studio. Many years ago I had a fascination with plaster of Paris and casting. Nothing was safe from a latex coating and I managed to cast everything from ornaments, everyday objects and eventually my own hand. I found a finger. Not just any finger but one of mine that I cast over twenty years ago so I did the obvious thing, compared yesteryears finger to today's with surprising results.

The surprising thing is that there is no difference, absolutely zilch. I could have cast it yesterday, all the same lines are there and in exactly the same proportion too. Focusing on the nails they are the same too even down to the length and width. The fingerprint I knew would remain the same but the wrinkles on the knuckles and the vertical lines between the joints I had expected after twenty years of growth to at least have increased but no, they are identical.

It's weird that part of the body that gets such a lot of hammer remains the same whilst everything else slowly gives in to gravity and either sags or sprouts hair. I suppose that's the fun in getting older, it's the gift that keeps on giving, hair grows where you don't want it and you suffer from overspill, a term I find increasingly useful as my belt rides higher and higher up my waist. So on that cheery note and in an effort to stave it off a little longer I now go swimming most days. This is where it gets odd, because swimming improves all the parts of the body that sags but get this, it makes your hands go all wrinkly, don't you think that's weird?

So if I did the same experiment with the plaster finger after a quick swim I would find little to compare as my fingers have acted like an enourmous sponge and millions of new wrinkles have been added. Another thing, why doesn't every part of your body wrinkle after being immersed in water for a while? Not that I want to get out of a swimming pool looking like a prune soaked in milk but its strange don't you think?

Come to think of it and I'm going off on a tangent here, why is Doctor No called Doctor No? Being called an answer to a question must be so confusing, how many times has he turned around when somebody has inadvertently said no to somebody. You would get very paranoid always thinking you're being talked about.

"You talking about me?"

"No, er, No Doctor No, I was saying No to henchman twenty six when he asked me if I wanted anything from Greggs, he said No, Dr No. Want anything fetching Doctor No?"

"No"

If you are going to be an evil genius have an evil genius name like, oh I don't know, Doctor Devious for example, although that sounds a bit crap too. On another tangent did you know a few years ago a newspaper actually carried adverts for henchmen jobs based on James Bond films to see if henchmen could be hired in quantities only to be inundated with applicants?

They ran something like this...

Staff required for moderate/large organisation with big expansion plans. Applicants will be expected to work on own initiative during our frequent security drills with a view to working alongside a team overseeing an international world changing space program. Applicant must be willing to relocate at a moments notice. Light arms experience preferred. Flexible moral code. Uniform provided. Must like cats.

Apply to Dr Julius No, Crater 29, Crab Key

So what started as no blog entry today has, as usual, descended into some weirdness, I really don't know how this keep happening, is it normal to think these things?

Jumpers. Why are they called that when quite obviously they cannot jump or indeed make you jump, unless of course you have a really bad knitter in your family who regularly supplies jumpers of frightening quality and design.

See, here I go again.

Note to brain - Stop.

Why is stop called stop?

The more you type stop the more it looks wrong. Stop, stop,stop,stop,stop,stop,pots,stop,stop,stop,stop. See, it looks kinda kooky.

I hope you were paying attention 007 and spotted the deliberate mistake in the last paragraph. This is no ordinary gadget Bond, you twist this bit here and press down hard on the top and it turns into a handy writing tool. Reverse the action and it no longer writes as the tip ingeniously retracts. We got the idea from the Russians who use a simpler version called a pencil, we needed a snappier name so we dropped the cil and named our improved version Pen for short. We don't really know what to do with it yet I'm sure you will find a use for it somewhere in the field Bond.

'I'm shore I will Q' (say this bit like Sean Connery, to warm up try saying "You're a shite for shore ayes")

Where was I? Ahh...

Stop.

 

www.petersmithcollective.co.uk Home Of Everything Impossimal

Yet Further Adventures Of Dr Do

Travelling in his extraordinary postbox shaped time machine that moves through time and space under severe restrictions such as only being able to travel between 9am and 5pm on the same day and only being able to transport the Doctor to supermarkets Doctor Do's adventures are legendary amongst Do Do's, the Doctors biggest fans, let us join the Doctor on his latest adventure.

For those of you unfamiliar with the good doctors adventures you can find the previous episode here

Today's episode is Doctor Do Run Run And Rise Of The Garlics

After spending the last week tinkering with his time travelling postbox the Doctor had managed to extend the working hours to fit in line with the extended openening hours of most supermarkets, so enjoying his new found extended time freedom we find the good doctor on a Friday night tucking into a curry after parking his time travelling postbox outside Lesco's, safely away from the centre of town and the threat of inebriated young men urinating through his slot. "Mmmmm, this vindaloo is hot, hot, hot! It reminds me of the time I tackled the Sausage Sirens on aisle twelve, they were hot too". The Sausage Sirens were five scantily clad females with rollers in their hair that called to male shoppers to fill their trollies with Aunt Bessies, eventually the Doctor had to subdue them through the cunning use of prawn earplugs and a gravy gun water pistol.

"Mmm, what's next? Ahh, my favourite, Rogan Josh. Nom,nom,nom..."

"Oh no! No,no,no!!!" the Doctor had wolfed down several spoonfuls before he realised that his curry had been spiked. "Garlic! I told them when I ordered, under no circumstances use garlic, they know what happens when I eat garlic or at least they should know, they had to clean it up last time!"

A little known fact about the Doctor is that garlic is equal to Supermans Kryptonite, it evokes a tremendous bowel action that threatens to turn the Doctor inside out unless he can, how shall I say, evacuate it from his system within thirty minutes. The countdown had began...

Jumping up the Doctor tipped the curry down his new cords. "Damn, these are brand new, only £5 from Asba's back to school range, thirty minutes until blastoff and it looks like I'm going to need some new trousers too, I must concentrate. The Tardydis doesn't have a loo and I'm not using the post slot again not after last time when that old lady tried to post a letter, last I heard she was still in therapy"

Due to an unfortunate oversight the Doctors time travelling postbox, the Tardydis was just that, inside it was only large enough for the Doctor, his scalf and a few pieces of mail after failing to install a space expander so the Doctor relied heavily on supermarket facilities to compensate. Thinking the Doctor remembered a branch of Waitnose stayed open until 9pm and after a nifty manoeuvre he turned around enough in his cramped space to initiate the time slip.

Whooosh, the Tardydis flickered out of existence, moments later reappearing a hundred meters down the road outside Waitnose. Bursting out of the postbox smelling heavily of spices the Doctor ran through the sliding doors and was immediately rugby tackled by the security guard.

"Not you again, I have told you before, take your Turdis, your stupid overly long scalf and sling your hook, you're barred. Remember? You ran naked down aisle eight trying to scare off a Yoghurt Yeti that was trying to steal all the petit-filous, it turned out it was our assistant in a large coat after returning from the freezer. Now get out! God, you stink too, what's that down your trousers? Urgh, I'm going to be sick"

Picking himself up the Doctor glanced at his Casio watch, a bargain at 50p. Twenty minutes left, time is running out. Looking around the doctor spied the disabled toilets away from the main building. "Just the ticket!" said the Doctor sprinting across the car park unbuttoning as he went.

"Damn, another sabotage!" One of the Doctors enemies the Turgis (Series 2 Episode 24) had visited before and dropped a giraffe rendering the facilities useless. With only minutes left the Doctor returned to the Tardydis and hit the controls. "There's only one thing for it, that new Lesco's Megastore, I haven't been there yet I was saving that for a special treat but needs must before I bust!"

The Tardydis landed with a thud outside the new Megastore, a thud that knocked a minute off the Doctors shortening time span, it was coming. Learning the Doctor walked through the doors avoiding a comotion and straight on to the escalator. "Hmmm, this is new, never seen this type of layout before." At the top of the escalator was a sign 'Store, Homewares, Toilets this way >'

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" With seconds to spare the Doctor ran and ran until he found himself surrounded by toilets. "Wow, first time I have seen so many and they all look posh too, unusual layout being able to see so many, not good for privacy but what the hell, here I go."

The noise was bad enough but the following localised vacuum floored several passerby whilst the lingering smell took out a few others. In hindisght the Doctor should have realised he had stopped short of the real toilets and was actually in the main Homewares bathroom section, something he only realised after frantically pumping the handle in a vain attempt to flush an unplumbed toilet. "Go damn you, go!!! Why won't you go?? Do I have to beat you with a stick?"

In the managers office pending charges the Doctor could see a hazardous material squad cleaning up and carting away a toilet with a cracked bowl. What was the good Doctor going to do now? Just then he heard the familiar sound of a Sausage Siren, "Aunt Bessie's calling" he whispered to no one in particular and started to remove his trousers...

Enjoy more of the Doctors antics as be descends into mental meltdown in the next episode The Doctor and The Ready Meal Massacre coming soon!

 

www.petersmithcollective.co.uk Home Of Everything Impossimal

Fagin

Got myself one of those new fangled free EcoMeters, fitted by our electricity supplier it allows us to monitor live electric and gas usage to try and reduce the bills.

It only took twenty minutes for it to be installed but we had to endure a instructional talk from a nice man who went on far, far, far, far, too long. After all do I need to know that if you press this button it shows you your current usage? Oh, and if you press this button it shows you your current usage. Did I tell you if you press this button to show you your current usage?

"Yes, I get it. This button shows you current usage."

"But if you press it twice..."

"Yessss?"

"If you press it twice it shows you current usage and seven day usage, but if you press it again..."

"Yes?"

"It goes back to current usage."

"Have you got a problem with that bloody button or a strange addiction to saying the words current usage? Either way pal I'll do some current usage with my fist if you don't move on" I said a little tersely.

"Ok, Mmm, and this, these colours are red, amber and green, we call them traffic light colours, green means go or good, amber means your using electricity and red means your using a lot of electricity. You can check your current usage at any time by pressing this button"

Right, for frikin sake, thank you, I think we have had enough patronising traffic light button pressing for one day, please, let the door hit you where the good lord split you"

And with that he was off, really, thirty minutes to teach us four buttons, two of which he did not explain as we didn't need them and one useless one that told us our emissions for the day, I ask you. The only one I was interested in was the current usage and the peculiar traffic lights that warned us if we were draining our bank account funding the national grid.

So for the next few hours merriment was had switching on various combinations of appliances to see just how high I could get it. Even with the bare minimum on I could not get it to go green so stuff that I thought, lets go for a red alert. Well, that was easy I thought standing back proudly as the house shone like the sun and the electric meter whizzed around like a manic roundabout. Lets see how much that lot costs.

"How much!"

"£2.25 an hour!"

Jayne complained when I got the candles out but I'm sure she enjoyed a night without power, after all we were saving money and I did manage to get the green light to come on which I gleefully pointed out with my fingerless gloves.

 

www.petersmithcollective.co.uk Home Of Everything Impossimal

Interwebspace.whatthehellhappened?

According to popular computing magazines way back in the late 70's early 80's the new computer age would revolutionise life as we know it, they imagined paperless offices, robot arms serving us cups of coffee on a whim and even considered using some of the most basic computers to control home lighting and electric grids the only downside was that most enthusiasts into computers at this stage were either beardy types that looked like they had stepped straight out of the Open University programs shown at night and more often used to pointing out oscilloscope patterns or they were smart kids with rich parents, all of which could be found at 'computer clubs'.

Basically these involved enthusiasts gathering together to Ooh and Aha over Video Genies, Acorn Atoms and that particularly fetching Nascom that the beardy chap in the corner has built into a walnut travelling case and played Baa Baa Black Sheep using three tone deaf notes. Computer program's were exchanged on cassette tape like government secrets and discussions about the potential 32k Ram expansion or should I invest in those new costly Apple chaps (no change there then!) or wait for the all new BBC Micro kept us all enthralled. Riveting stuff I'm sure you would agree...

See, look how cool it all looks, computers the size of small cars, printers that required ear muffs to sit next to as they thumped out their text and a storage system that could hold close to a quarter of a typical MP3 file today. Not exactly the future quite yet but they were already doing useful things especially with the new fangled spreadsheets, word processing and database software already appearing. Although our lady model here looks sat rather awkwardly and certainly a candidate for potential back and neck problems, tut, tut.

To show how enthusiastic people really were according to the blurb '...shuttle Columbia was about to lose all contact with Earth: for 21 agonising minutes, touch-down would be touch-and-go. All the world held its breath, the £4.5 Billion project relied on a £165 hand-held calculator...". You would be gutted to read this wouldn't you? Ok then, thanks for that, I have just wasted the entire US deficit, spent twenty years of my life making sure that we could do it and you put it all down to a calculator. Gee, you will be telling me next that the £1 million I spent creating a pen that could write in space could have been done by just using a pencil. Damn.

Now here's a bold claim, let's use a small black and white £50 computer with 1K of Ram in old money, for those of you that are unaware of the limitations it basically has a memory that can hold 1024 characters, less than this blog entry and certainly no photos, to run a power station! Wow, your telling me that the ZX-81, which had a tendency to overheating, crashing on a whim (not as often as Vista!) and with the addition of a 16k expansion pack was also prone to 'wobble' so if anyone as much as broke wind within six feet the accompanying gust would wobble the expansion pack and your last three hours of typing on it plastic keyboard would disappear in a cloud of pixels, could do this?

Nah, not really, but you have got to think big haven't you? The article allows you to build at home a handy I/O port and send pulses (On and Off basically) to control stuff, not exactly ground breaking but it paved the way for all the Serial, parallel, USB and a multitude of other ports that do similar things. The great thing is a follow up article had enthusiasts if I remember controlling motorised Lego, cat flaps and the usual robot arm fumbling with cups and milk bottles. They did have a tendency to go wrong though and often the cat would be left meowing outside avoiding a whacking whist the flap flapped uncontrollably and robot arms unable to judge distance would frequently smash a milk bottle in your face, not to mention when they crashed you got coffee instead. On the roof.

Still, we all dreamed of this hip office, an explosion of hair, spanking new technology that nobody knew how to use and lots and lots of brown...

And what did we get? The Internet. It's all cats and tubes if you ask me, and another thing when am I going to get a personal hover board? I used to set fire to Kindle, eat an Apple and a smart phone was one that was shiny red and made an attractive trilling sound. Tablets I ate, Lol was what I used to do in bed on a Sunday and Twitter was what the birds did to wake me up.

What the hell happened? I remember when you could by a computer for less than £50 and it would control everything from power stations to NORAD, once I wired it up to your auntie Mable and marched her around the house robot style until the power cord came out and she crashed pulling down the curtains and smashing through the coffee table. The vicar wasn't impressed. Neither was the postman as Bonzo became the first Robodog on the street, it took me three days to work out how to stop the automatic humping mechanism, the postman was a physical wreck but I kept his spirits up during the sleepless nighttime sessions whist he was pummelled senseless with tea and biscuits.

Ahh, the good old days...

 

www.petersmithcollective.co.uk Home Of Everything Impossimal

The Olive Stroker

A while ago I told you a tale of a hotel stay that involved an unsavoury breakfast, a breakfast that involved sausages that bent in the middle when pressed with a knife, beans that had formed a crust and toast that looked like a blackboard, indeed you could even scrape letters into it. The worst thing though was watching over Jaynes shoulder as a member of staff decided to fill up the little jam tubs you get, a bit of a fumble and one fell off the tray an plopped into the serving jug full of orange. You know the one, the serve yourself jug that always dribbles full of orange juice chemically enhanced with flavouring. Anyway our staff member decided that instead of messing about and replacing the now contaminated juice they decided to roll up their sleeves and plunge their hand straight in to fish it out, job done they wiped themselves on the tablecloth and walked away. Needless to say orange juice and many other things were off the menu that morning.

Roll on to Monday and a visit to the market, a pleasant day but as we have travelled up and down the country you do come across similar stalls, one in particular was seeking olives in quantity, something we have seen many times with its familiar setup. Jayne was preoccupied with looking at ribbons or something like that and I was curiously observing the olive stall as he attempted to entice members of the public to try a sample. Not many people were buying even though it was busy so he started to rearrange the front of the stall a little, a thumb dipped in here and a thumb dipped in there as each bowl was moved, not very nice but I have seen worse.

One of the bowls of black olives was looking a little bit empty and mostly full of salty water that the olives came in. Our stall holder noticed and pulled it towards him for a refil. Now I can only assume that this is not the normal procedure unless I'm not privy to all the information regarding filling olive bowls but normally I would expect some kind of utensil to be used when moving olives. Off came the lid from an enourmous tub of black olives drowning in salty water, up went the sleeves and in went the hands. Urgh.

Now we are talking big hairy hands, really big hairy hands which were now being thrust deep into the olives, up they came with an handful and they were cupped together and squeezed until all the liquid came out of the olives. The now dryish olives were chucked into the bowl ready to be sold, get this, sold using a special ladle to pop them in a tub to give the impression of hygiene. In between olive dipping his hands were wiped on his trousers, how hideous.

I don't know why I always seem to see things like this, I nudged Jayne to look but by the time turned around he was already back to giving out samples. 'Are you sure?' She questioned. 'Yes, look, see that man, he's about to take a few as a sample, oh no, he's going to eat one! Should I tell him? Ugh, I'm going to hurl!'

And so it goes on, these little things I see and my mind doesn't forget, so arriving home I downloaded a few free apps for a diversion from any olive related horribleness only to have this thrust in my face so to speak.

Oh my, I shudder to think what this character can do, who on earth named it the STIMULATOR, it's a kids game for god sake, whatever next the KNEE TREMBLER or how about the FORNICATOR, no, I know lets go all out and call it the THRUSTING FAPPER!

I'm off for a lay down, I just hope I don't have nightmares of a man called the AROUSER who is naked and using his big hands to drop olives in jugs full of orange juice which I am then forced to drink.

See! see what today has done! Sob!

 

www.petersmithcollective.co.uk Home Of Everything Impossimal