Mermaid's got the new shoes blues

Here's a perfect illustration of my latent stupidity... I blame being blonde, but I suspect that most women have a similar tale, and probably some men as well...

This is the story... cast your minds back to a warmer time (May), when the sun shone and the time for little kitten heels and bright yellow shoes was just what the fashionistas ordered.

There was Merms, standing on Streatham station platform in her new bright yellow shoes, with matching top and her best jeans, ready for a first date in London with some chap she met online.

Anyway, there was Merms, waiting with her best friend, Paddy's mum, who had stayed chez Mermaid overnight after a concert.

The train rolled in... and Mermins realised, to her chagrin, that her cute yellow kitten heel was caught in a trap, there was no way out, because she'd stepped onto a drain grating, baby. As she struggled to free herself, the train pulled in to a hissing stop. The doors opened. People got on, all the while looking at Paddy's Mum and the Mermins desperately attempting to set my foot free from its griddled metal prison.

The train driver got out of his carriage.

'You alright miss?'

'It's okay, I'll get the next train, thank you,' quoth I.

The driver got back into his cab, and continued to watch us from there.

'Why isn't the train moving?' I asked myself. By this point, both of us were kneeling on the station platform. I had taken my foot out of the blasted darn yellow piece of leathery overpriced crap, and was twisting the shoe this way and that while Paddy's Mum was kneeling down trying to hold the metal grating down.

At this point, I glanced up at the train. From somewhere in the train came a wispy tannoy announcement, too faint for me to hear. Was it a warning about baggage? A travel update? No no no... it was evident what the driver's message was to those passengers.

For, as the train slowly pulled out of the station, every person on our side of the train was standing up, or sitting right next to the window, watching the spectacle and videoing on their mobile phones.


I wandered lonely as a cloud... until I saw a host of golden shoes!!!

Merry Christmas one and all!

Well my darlings, I have been a neglectful mermins, not wishing you all a wonderful Christmas, or swimming onto your blogs to pass on seasonal tidings of comfort, joy and watermelons.

However, blame the busiest season for Christians, together with being in hospital with a burst ulcer, yucky yuck, as well as a lot on at work... you get the picture... mermins not lucky enough to get the opportunity to even see her own blog and the lovely comments you posted. Thank you.

I do hope you have all had a lovely Christmas; I was thinking of you all on Christmas eve at my mum's, wishing I could get onto the internet and post yuletide greetings to you. So I hope that the Christmas week was lovely for you all.

And I do wish you all a fantastic New Year. Whatever the New Year may bring. I know that whatever trials await me (including an endoscopy on 20th January and a 98k hike in February, My God is able! I can trust that I won't have another dull year this coming year. Whether redundancy, or ill health, or - no, I am sure this year will be mermin's year for love - or the loss, then, of my sanity completely, that 2009 will be a year of growth, comfort, fellowship and new opportunities.

So every blessing to you all for 2009 and beyond. And May the Mermin of happiness throw plenty of fresh fish your ways.

Mermaid, formerly of Moorgate

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Modern-day parable

I was standing for an hour in the cold, collecting in Piccadilly Circus station this morning for MIND. Of course I was there to raise money for charity, but it certainly was an interesting social experiment.

As I stood there, watching all the well-heeled people with jobs pass me by, with very few stopping (and the vast majority of those who stopped were middle-aged men in suits) I was aware of someone shuffling up to me: an old man, matted hair, very shabby clothes, crawling slowly along on crutches. But he wasn't trying to pass me by like the rest of them: balancing on one crutch, he reached into his dirty pockets, pulled out all the change that he had and put it into my collecting tin.

The Lord Jesus Christ was once standing in the temple in Jerusalem. His disciples watched people walk past the treasury box. A poor widow - no welfare state then - came and dropped in two small, copper coins. Jesus turned to his disciples and said: "You see this poor widow? She has given more than all the others. They gave out of their vast wealth, but she, out of her poverty, gave all that she had." (Mark 12:41-44)

This is the link to my fund raising site: Simoney's Mind Sponsorship Site

Thank you for stopping by

Think of the children

lolcats

Mermins should not be allowed near them. Children, that is.

Yesterday, Merms had been in a three-hour meeting, including lunch, at a clients HQ and then had to cram onto a late late train back to office. At Holborn, a pikey family or three with lots of small schoolchildren, pushed onto the already packed train and stood encircling me, pressing their heads into my bladder with every twist and jolt of the Central Line.

Given that matter (ie my digesting lunch) exists in three states: solid, liquid and gas, something had to give.

But I waited until it was time for me to escape the train before I farted in their general direction, head level. Some of them even had their mouths open.

Was that mean and unchristian?

What has the Mermaid been up to?!?!?

EVERYTHING!

Working, freelancing, doing notes for her mother, dating, putting her flat on the market, becoming the first woman editor of a christian publication, back to her youth groups and charity card making and jewellery making and in training for a 98k trek to Cuba to raise money for MIND! (because I'll need their services one day no doubt!)

EEEKY!

How does she do it, you ask? Well, easy - dating goes out of the window! But the window is still open he he he he. Merms has a fishing rod.

Anyway here's some of the exciting stuff I am making for a charity craft fair (again to raise £ for MIND - the mental health charity). And here's my fund raising page!

If you have any ideas about how to help us get our target Id' be grateful - at the moment I'm auctioning myself off on facebook, doing a cake bake, collecting at stations, holding a fund raising party, my best friend is holding a charity raffle and book sale and my old school is having a Cuba day - how cute is that?

Some days...

I know this is cheating - I have not really written anything of great social or political import... but some days you just need to laugh at another's misfortune...




This is almost my favourite one


This looks like Monty!

Poor pup

My personal favourite. I will marry the man who came up with that caption.
Basement cat
Opussy bin Laden
We are the knights that say MEW!
Watch out before you sit down







This will be me





My kind of cat

Ha ha ha!

Poor fat beggar

You just have to have a laugh... or you'd cry

Why I Love Ben Ainslie

Ben Ainslie
... by someone who is now definitely over Alan Rickman

I LOVE Ben Ainslie.

I spent an hour alone with Ben in a room. Sadly it was for the purposes of interviewing him about his sailing career and finances, but I can say that I interviewed our Olympian gold medalist! Totally down-to-earth, self-effacing, quiet, modest - and totally gorgeous, er, I mean, totally worthy of respect... um...

You can read the profile wot I wrote here The beautiful Ben Ainslie

Or you can just look at his website and feel proud of our home-grown sailing hero! Our hero!

Paris Hilton's top 10 tunes

Guido's fabulous post on the presidential candidates' 10 favourite songs Guido is here has got me thinking how great it would be if Paris became president. Let's face it, under the American constitution and Bill of Rights, it is more than possible that she should be a candidate. Presidential precedent even suggests, nay, demands it:

Ronald Regan was an actor, and Paris has been in a movie (I think it might still be on YouTube).
Bill Clinton was caught in an impassioned er, situation, as has Paris (YouTube comment still stands).
Nixon stank, and Paris has launched her own perfume.
Bush is verbally challenged; Paris is verbal and challenged.
The Kennedys were shot - there's hope for a bright, but brief, political future for her.

So what would her top 10 hits be?

I venture

1) Money, Money Money (Abba)
2) One Toke over the line (Brewer and Shipley)
3) Because I got High (Afroman)
4) Love Shack (the B-52s)
5) Honky Tonk Woman (Stones)
6) Blow, Gabriel Blow (Marti Webb)
7) These Foolish Things (Ella)
8) Love in an Elevator (Aerosmith)
9) Gangsta's Paradise (Coolio)
10) Californication (RHCP)

???????????????

Decapitated alien foetuses

Adopting six teenage girls is one thing. Training them to be ninjas is another. And removing decapitated alien foetuses from dormitory ceilings after Da Cardiff Crew left them there for a legacy is quite beyond being another thing.

But I am safely returned from camp and have a lot of reading to catch up on before I tell you about the aliens.

Love,

Mummy
Chinese Wisdom Master
Chief Ninja
milkshaker extraordinaire
Sinezza of Da Crew
x

Cockfosters

London Underground

Cockfosters

Is a station on the Piccadilly Line, taking people into Barnet. Ooh look, how interesting, a map of Cockfosters
It is also a happily-named station, providing me with an august-sounding, euphemistic verbalisation of my frustration.

For I am frustrated. I have no time to do anything I actually like. I like to watch TV, eat, sleep and maybe even tidy up. But no, every second of my day is clamoured after by people, and not even people who are the closest to me. My closest friends and family know how cockfosterly busy I am and are patient and gentle and forgiving. People who don’t know me – or who don’t care – just demand more and more of my time. This makes me want to staple their heads to the front of a train pummelling its way to Cockfosters.

I also have not had any time to catch up with you all, to see how you are, to read your latest blog posts and email you and find out what's been occurring in your lives-outside-of-blogsville. I do hope you are all well and I aim to carve out more time to splash on your blogs.

I’ve also not had time to write up some rather amusing happenings in the life of Mermaid. Stories I would like to write:

• The chipmunk wot ate out of my hand
• The day my heel got stuck in a train station grating
• The man who just doesn’t get it
• Wings
• Two toads, two frogs, three spiders, one pigeon, one mouse and a small cat
• Mutley still needs to send me an invoice.

I can’t be motivated enough to write them all, so please choose your favourite one and I will write that first.

Except for the last one, that’s a lazy reminder to him that I owe him £ for services rendered.

Willesden Green!

Waterhouse

Mermaid by Waterhouse
I was searching for an image of a knight, a picture I had in my head of La Belle Dame Sans Merci (Poem: John Keats, Painting: Waterhouse) and I stumbled upon this. It was then I remembered that, 10 years ago, I went though a phase of collecting postcards of fine art, particularly Romantic and late 19th Century pieces based on scenes from Classical Literature and from the canon of English Poetry. I wondered if this mermaid was behind my persona in some way - she was one of the postcards I had collected - wistfully looking out to sea, alone, pensive...

But thinking about my collection reminded me of The Wanderer Above the Mists. This was a picture that had such an impact on me as a student. It was at the epicentre of my collection, posted in the middle of my room and surrounded by the other paintings. It is a powerful portrait of a man who looks like he has been transported to an unknown place, to a situation for which he was not prepared (his clothing is hardly that of an intrepid explorer!)... a man facing a task unfinished, a path unseen, yet he is not shirking from his challenge. He will go into the great unknown, he will venture into the mist though he cannot see the dangers, because he trusts in the One who does know the way, who will guide him through the paths of his life.

Wanderer Above The Mists

For me, this is how I have always seen life. I am not really the pensive mermaid sitting around, combing her hair, waiting for a mer-man. I am the traveller, the wayfarer, the journeyman and the lone crusader. I am a lot stronger than people think, even if I have to pour out my siren songs from time to time.

Yet I have never had a 10-year plan, or a 5-year or even a 1-year plan. I know not what the future holds, but I know who holds the future and I am confident that I, too, can face the future with its trials and with its joys, because I know where my ultimate destination is, I have a shepherd to guide me and I have been given the key.

"I know who holds the future
And He'll guide me by the hand;
With God things don’t just happen
Everything by Him is planned.
So as I face tomorrow with its
problems large and small
I’ll trust the God of miracles,
Give to him my all."

Another one bites the dust

Disappointing night for Labour

Did anyone catch the blethering idiot from Southampton, John Denham MP, trying to blame the Conservative victory on the fact that "The Lib Dem vote completely collapsed".... Have a look at his BBC interview here.... Denham blames the Lib Dems! what a loser! When David Dimbleby pointed out that, in fact, the Labour party lost four seats compared with two for the Lib Dems, Denham's reply was (roughly) thus:

"David, David, David, David, David... I not trying to pretend it's been a good night.... am trying to explain to you what happened. The Lib Dem vote completely collapsed. And our voters said they were not going to vote."

"But you lost more votes than the Lib Dems. How can you blame them for your failure"

"We didn't fail David. Our voters stayed at home."

What a turkey. He should be ashamed of himself.

What to get the Old Tarf?

It's the Old Tarf's birthday today and I have struggled to know what to get him.

I thought about getting him some booze, but realised he's got enough of that.
drink!

I considered getting him some plants, but the only thing he can water now is his jumper when he drools
watering can

So I got him what every man wants... a luxury bath from a beautiful geisha girl.

See how happy he is?

oldest man in the world

Moron in the sky with custard

custard

While eating delectable chocolate and amaretto cake the other evening at a family friend's house, enjoying some fine sweet Australian white and gazing at the glorious spring sunset over the Nova Scotian countryside, I happened to be recounting a tale of travelling woe.

For the Mermaid of Moorgate does not always swim everywhere; no, indeed, she often takes the flying machine and hence increases her likelihood of heart attacks by still flying with British Airways. Death by Stress. What Mermaid hates is people who arrive late for things. She used to go out with someone who was always late, leaving at the last minute, unable to get ready on time. Lovely chap, but infuriating to go anywhere with as, with three minutes to go before the train/coach would leave, we'd still be on the underground because boyo wasn't ready.

Well one time, Mermaid and aforementioned boyo were due to fly out (with British Airwazzocks) to a European destination. The plane left at 2:30 from Heathrow. We needed to be checked in by 1:45. It takes 1 hour and 40 minutes from boyo's house to the airport. Mermaid was all packed and ready to leave by 12. Boyo enticed her round to his with the kind proffer of breakfast. I arrived. Breakfast was not cooked. Boyo asked Merms if she would kindly cook it. I started to do so, under the misapprehension we would have time to eat it. It was on the plates. Boyo was eating, but there was not sign of activity. Merms got suspicious.

At 12:30 she peeked into Boyo's room. He had only just decided which suitcase he was going to take. He had not packed. Had only just started to get his clothes ready. And there he was, trying to decide whether to put brown sauce or ketchup on his second piece of bacon.

It was the last straw. Each time we'd almost been late for a plane and he'd promised to sort it out. No more broken promises

"WE HAVE TO LEAVE NOW" I thundered.

"I'm eating"

"NOW".

"We have to leave NOW!"

I've never seen anyone with apoplexy. I think I approached an apoplectic state however. I think my tail even turned black.

Boyo, boiled egg in one hand, pair of socks in the other, proceeded to pack his case with a dervishly frenzied manner. I think he was sulking.

He ran into the kitchen, put lots of food into a plastic bag.. sorry, he did not RUN, that would convey the impression that he was now starting to hurry up. The more I hurried, the slower he got. It was now almost 1. We managed to get the tube and change for the Piccadilly line to Heathrow.

Now you must remember that this is in the days just after the bombings at airports. We were allowed just to take our credit card, money and passports on board. Nothing should be taken on. Airports were in a whirlwind of confusion - lines everywhere, baggage missing for months, planes delayed - chaos.

It was into this chaos that we descended at nearly 2 pm. Although it was past original check-in time, the flight had been delayed by 20 minutes. We had EIGHT minutes to CHECK IN, PASS SECURITY AND BOARD OUR PLANE.

Merms kicked into action. I found a worker who put us through immediately at the front of the queue. "Good luck" he called, as he told us to cut through the first class/executive flight security point.

The security guard at the railings told us to go to the back of the queue. Again, Merms took to work and flirted with him outrageously and explained the situation. Immediately he unhooked the rope and let us through the fast track. Or would have done.

"Excuse me sir" I heard him say.

I turned.

There was boyo, with a big plastic Tesco's bag of cold breakfast.

Boyo was drinking Custard.

DRINKING custard.

"You can't take that in there" he said to Boyo.

"But it's food. I'll finish it before we get to security."

"I can't allow you to... what are you drinking? Custard?" The security guard looked like he'd been hit in the face with a kipper.

"I like custard. It's a waste to throw it away."

"Boyo" I said, "There are bomb scares everywhere. There are massive signs up saying not to take any liquids or bags onto the plane. you can't get through security with that food, you have to throw it away!"

"But it's only custard" Boyo said, continuing to drink from the container as if it was the last food he would ever eat in his life.

"Is he with you?" the security guard said. I almost died of mortification. "Is he your boyfriend? And he's drinking CUSTARD?" He called his security guard friend over.

"This kid is drinking custard from a carton. Look."

"THROW IT AWAY NOW!"

"I've almost finished it" he pleaded, glugging away at the cardboard opening. I pulled it from him, threw it into the bag and tossed all the food into the nearest bin.

"We have three minutes to get our plane and you're worried about bloody custard!!!!!!!!!" I was so angry.

The security guard patted me on the shoulder. "Good luck" he said. By now there were three guards, all pointing and laughing. People in the queue behind were taking photos.

By some fluke, we made it to the plane with literally seconds to spare. everyone else was boarded and sitting down, glaring at us. I hardly dared to look up.

As we put on our seatbelts, Moron turned to me and said: "See, I told you we'd make it."

I wished he'd choked on his custard. I mean, really, which moron eats custard in public anyway?

Moron

Duetto Buffo di 2 Gatti

Thanks to Paddy's Mum for this one....

There's always one...

I dedicate this post to Mutley, who gave me the idea, and to Electro-Kevin who has to put up with such people every day...

There is always one weirdo on the same mode of public transport as yourself.

You know what I mean - the man with the crazy eyes (one eye lookin' atcha, one eye lookin' for ya). Or the woman with rats up her sleeve who HAS to, yes simply HAS to sit next to you even though there are 100 seats free in the carriage, or the deaf old lady who feels the need to ask everyone how old she is.

This latter one, coincidentally, was my grandmother, who had a habit of asking random strangers to guess her age.

"Guess how old I am?" she would yell at some long-haired hippy student minding his own business.
"I couldn't possibly"
"Oh, go on, go on. Take a guess."
"I really couldn't"
"Just a little guess" (sorry, that should have read)
"JUST A LITTLE GUESS"
"Er... 64"
"Oh you flatterer, you, I'm 82 next year."
"So you're 81 now then?"
"Pardon?"
(turning to my mother) "We need to get off the bus now, this young man is talking to me and I think he's going to steal my pension book".

Anyway, when Grandmother Merms finally popped her fins, Merms was left facing the uncomfortable prospect of having an Unknown Weirdo on the bus... and realising that I am indeed that weirdo.

I AM THE WEIRDO ON THE BUS. One day I was sitting by myself, enjoying my seat at the front of an EMPTY bus, just listening to the Stones on my iPod, when Merms espies at the approaching bus stop a young lady with several shopping bags.

Merms does not have a crystal ball, but immediately Merms knew that, of all the 82 empty seats on the 133, that Bag Girl would come and sit right next to her. Now Bag Girl was not a weirdo, let me get that straight. But Merms was not happy. Puffer jackets should be banned in the interests of public safety. Bag Girl also put her shopping up on the shelf in front so that Merms could not look out of the window. Bag Girl also took out a newspaper too big for her to manoeuvre and flicked it in the Merms' face.

So I decided to be THE ONE. I decided to be the Weirdo on the Bus. I texted three friends to ask their opinion; they all told me to go for it. So I thought of my options:

1) The Alexi Sayle "Do you like sponge? I am only allowed Sponge. They won't let me have anything sharper than SPONGE" approach, which was not just Weird, but possibly dangerously creepy
2) The "I like dogs, but not brown ones" approach, which is weird, but also has the endearing effect of her perhaps thinking I am autistic, which might make her feel the need to stay next to me and talk to me out of the milk of human kindness
3) Chickening out

I decided on a mix of 2 and 3. Turning towards her suddenly and staring not at her, but at her jugular vein, I adopted a Yorkshire accent and said:

"Do you like Streatham?"

She turned to look at me. "S.................?"

I froze.

"You're S.............. aren't you? You went to school with me. You were a couple of years below me."

She eyed me strangely as if to say: "You always were weird and I guess nothing has changed."

I had no idea who she was. I guess she recognised my tail. I was mortified.

I have decided that I will never again try to be weird. My life is strange enough without trying. Anyway I have to go now and milk the hippo.

So I want to bet on the markets?

Mermaid's Fantasy Portfolio

All I am saying is that natural resources are going to rebound so don't question my highest allocation to the fund! We can't go over 20 per cent in the fantasy portfolio otherwise I'd back Ian Henderson 100 per cent. Ian Henderson is a genius.

Here's a picture of him below so you can see his geniosity. And I have many stories about him, including the lobbing of a bread roll at New Star during an awards dinner many years ago. Ah that was a good one!

Ian Henderson

The broken Cisterns

Question one: Who can tell me from whence cometh that saying re the broken cisterns?

Question two? Who wants to hear about the toilet-that-broke-on-a-date? YOU do? Okay. Here it is.

Last year I went on a couple of dates with a lovely young chap. It didn't go anywhere - there wasn't "that spark", but the lady who gets him will be a lucky lady indeed. And it is just as well that he has a calm character. Because I hit his house like a whirlwind of destruction.

Here is what happened.

That day I was very nervous because he said he would cook for me at his place. Being a good Christian girl, I was not sure this was entirely appropriate for a third date, but him being a good Christian lad and all that, I thought, well, it can't go wrong. But I was still nervous about how the evening might proceed. For one thing, I wasn't feeling that I wanted to kiss him, after all, we'd not even held hands, and I am quite a slow starter when it comes to all that romance malarky. So with that and all the other pressures (ie not telling my friends because they'd all be ultra nosey and want to interfere), I was unable to perform during my regular morning slot of 7:25 to 8:10. Believe me, I am so organised that even my bowels operate in synch with my diary. My bladder has a filofax. Actually, no the little beggar has a blackberry which keeps going off in meetings.

But I digress.

As a consequence of not indulging in a bout of deep-sea otter chasing, I was feeling a little bloated during the day. Merms is not a fatty by a long wave, but I certainly did not feel like swimming much that day. I nibbled a salad for lunch, thinking that I did not want to get to his house and not eat anything he'd cooked.

However, the salad worked a wonderful release for me. At 7:25 to 8:10 that evening the fact of the matter became clear to me. I needed to go.

I was at his house.

Dating Rule 101: Never go for a dump in a friend's house if you can possibly help it, and NEVER go for a spell on the porcelain throne the first time your date asks you to come to his house. MEN - this really applies to you, but ladies, do not be complacent. The Mermaid of Moorgate succumbed to the pressure. The Mermaid of Moorgate was on the verge of doing the turtle.

I excused myself.

I followed the laws of toilet etiquette. I carefully laid a barrier of Andrex upon the water, and started to run the sink tap to hide any noise. I performed. Rather beautifully and noiselessly. I ....

Have you ever seen Dumb and Dumber? It's one of the best films ever.

If you didn't do so, the video below is what you should watch NOW before continuing to read this post.

The toilet didnt flush.

I tried it again.

Nada

I tried it a third time.

Zip.

By now I am panicking. There's no window to open, and I can't find any air freshener.

I layered some more bog roll over the top of the log.

I sprayed my perfume into the air and tried to flush again.

It started to flush
...and flush
and flush...

"Mermaid, are you alright in there?"

"Yes! Just looking for my ... er... comb! There's so much trash in the bag I can't find it."

Where is the toilet brush?

Stab at the log! Stab the pig! Stab the pig! Down, Tarka, Down! Swim for your life down the china tunnel....

I finally got it to flow away, but the water kept rising. The flush came down and the floods came up, looking a bit like a bulemic's dinner.

By now the lid of the toilet was off - YES HITCH AND OLD TARF I HAVE BEEN FIXING MANY TOILETS IN MY HISTORY - as regular readers of this blog will know (if you click here you will see what I mean: Toilet Seats)and I was trying to stop the ballcock from sinking. But the plug was broken in any event.

After about 10 mins the water had run clear and it was flushing normally.

I exited, victorious but badly shaken by the experience.

Two hours later, during which time he burned the salmon en croute and a fox ran into the living room and just stood there looking at us, he went to the bathroom.

"I think the toilet is flooding. It keeps on flushing."

I took out my cheque book and grabbed my coat. Being a gentleman, he refused to accept my cheque. Being a lady I refused to stay any longer.

and that was the last date we had.

The broken cisterns

Question one: Who can tell me from whence cometh that saying?

Question two? Who wants to hear about the toilet-that-broke-on-a-date? YOU do? Okay. Here it is.

Last year I went on a couple of dates with a lovely young chap. It didn't go anywhere - there wasn't "that spark", but the lady who gets him will be a lucky lady indeed. And it is just as well that he has a calm character. Because I hit his house like a whirlwind of destruction.

Here is what happened.

That day I was very nervous because he said he would cook for me at his place. Being a good Christian girl, I was not sure this was entirely appropriate for a third date, but him being a good Christian lad and all that, I thought, well, it can't go wrong. But I was still nervous about how the evening might proceed. For one thing, I wasn't feeling that I wanted to kiss him, after all, we'd not even held hands, and I am quite a slow starter when it comes to all that romance malarky. So with that and all the other pressures (ie not telling my friends because they'd all be ultra nosey and want to interfere), I was unable to perform during my regular morning slot of 7:25 to 8:10. Believe me, I am that organised even my bowels operate in synch with my diary. My bladder has a filofax. Actually, no the little beggar has a blackberry which keeps going off in meetings.

But I digress.

As a consequence of not indulging in a bout of deep-sea otter chasing, I was feeling a little bloated during the day. Merms is not a fatty by a long wave, but I certainly did not feel like swimming much that day. I nibbled a salad for lunch, thinking that I did not want to get to his house and not eat anything he'd cooked.

However, the salad worked a wonderful release for me. At 7:25 to 8:10 that evening the fact of the matter became clear to me. I needed to go.

I was at his house.

Dating Rule 101: Never go for a dump in a friend's house if you can possibly help it, and NEVER go for a spell on the porcelain throne the first time your date asks you to come to his house. MEN - this really applies to you, but ladies, do not be complacent. The Mermaid of Moorgate succumbed to the pressure. The Mermaid of Moorgate was on the verge of doing the turtle.

I excused myself.

I followed the laws of toilet etiquette. I carefully laid a barrier of Andrex upon the water, and started to run the sink tap to hide any noise. I performed. Rather beautifully and noiselessly. I

Have you ever seen Dumb and Dumber? It's one of the best films ever.

Here's what you should watch NOW before continuing to read this post.

Cat-ion competition

What is this Cat doing, and why?

Is it pleading for its life with Dennis?

I think we should be told

Well??????

I know you are itching to know how it went...

I refer to Tolkein...

"Gildor was silent for a moment... At last he said: "...The Choice is yours, to go or to wait."
"And it is also said," answered Frodo: "Go not to the elves for counsel, for they will say both no and yes."

The answer is yes, with also a no, and a definite wait-and-see.

The Mermaid of Moorgate is not unhappy to bide a while, flicking her tail and singing her strange songs to the wind and the rain and the rocks. If it is worth waiting for, which it most definitely is, Merms will wait, even wait forever. At least she knows.

MONTY SPEAKS

lunatic
Sorry about mummy's last comment on her previous post.

I called the nice men. They've taken her away.

I should be sorry, but she's already cooked me enough chicken for a week.

Besides, she drank milk straight from the plastic bottle. What a chav.

Nehemiah - funniest book in the Bible?

Mawkish Victorian Image of Nehemiah

Looking at the thread of comments in the last post reminded me of my favourite and potentially the most lary character in the Old Testament (or, for my Jewish friends, the Testament!). In the eponymously-named book of History that is Nehemiah, the protagonist, a high-ranking Jewish servant/exile in the house of the Babylonian King Darius, pleads for the return of Israel to Jerusalem, to rebuild the House of the Lord, the walls and palace gates of Jerusalem which had been demolished 70 or 80 years previously.

He returns and, together with the scribe Ezra, they rebuild the walls and the spiritual lives of the people. He's a great character - at one stage, the people of Israel are under physical attack from the nearby tribes - and so they work to rebuild the walls, men and women, with one hand they are building and in the other they are ready with their weapons. While the men load the stones into place, the older men and women stand behind with spears and lanterns so they are ready for any attacks.

But Nehemiah is so funny! I always laugh out loud in church whenever they read the following chapters:

Chapter 6 vs 8: he tells a bunch of big-wigs: "You are just making it up out of your head."

But the best bit is in Chapter 7, where he catches a lot of the Jewish elders going round nicking wives from the unbelieving tribes and doing naughty things they shouldn't be doing with various ladies of questionable reputation:

"(CH 14 v 7): I rebuked them and called curses down on them. I beat some of the men and pulled out their hair."

ha ha ha ha! Chortle! Every time I see this in my head I think of TEACH from the Beano, jumping up and down and pinging chalk onto a kid's nose, while snorting in rage and yelling: "Nincompoop! Imbecile! Moron!".

And when I see this in my head and they're reading this passage out in Church, I always laugh out loud. If more ministers of the cloth so rebuked their recalcitrant congregation, the world would perhaps be a much better place. I'd love to see The Archbishop of Canterbury labouring about some minor clergy's head with an advent candle for some misdemeanour. It would amuse me greatly to witness a pastor slam-dunking someone's cranium into the collection plate for smoking on the church step.

After all, if the Muslims can wreak religious punishments, surely Christians could do it better, with more panache and possibly with a wry sense of irony.

Ah! Nehemiah! You have much to teach us today. Just leave my highlights alone.

four jacket potatoes and a tub of coleslaw

Mermins had a better day, thanks for all the prayers and positive thoughts.

Mother has filled mermaid's fridge with Good Things To Eat today. How lovely! Had a lovely supportive email from a certain nick-named person who shall not be even referred to but YOU all know who I mean! Plenty of cheery phone calls over the weekend, from a certain nick-named person, Paddy's Mum, Old Tarf, Mermaid's mum and other friends has boosted the merms, not to mention all your kind and sweet and positive thoughts me-ward. THANK YOU xxxxx

And now - a dilemma. Tonight I left work early to run a monthly bible study at my house for two GCU students and another leader. I had already rushed round like a maniac at M&S this lunchtime to buy all manner of stuff for jacket potatoes AND spent my lunch-minutes preparing the potatoes ( I dont use microwaves at home) etc.

I got a text while almost at my house saying the meeting has to be cancelled due to illness.

Does anyone want to come round and help me eat four jacket potatoes, two tubs of coleslaw, some extra mature grated cheese, tuna and sweetcorn, baked beans and salad?

Because otherwise Mermaid will be so fat that if she sits on a rock this evening combing her hair, Greenpeace will have to be called in to try to roll her back out to sea.

two cautionary tales

These hail courtesy of my friend James. If you don't like farting, poo or McDonalds, look away now.

The rest of you - I present to you: Tale of the Unexpected, Part one.

James's friend Dave and his two brothers often used to have Fart Wars.

Dave, when still a student, came home late one night half-cocked after drinking cheap cider. He saw his brother steve lying in front of the TV, glued to the screen, with his back to the doorway.

Silenty, silently, Dave backed up, legs apart, until his butt was directly above Steve's head.

HE CROUCHED!

He RIPPED ONE OFF!

It was his mother.

She was so offended, she punched him in the face.

**************************************************

Tale of the unexpected: Part Two

Aforementioned Dave did not learn his lesson. A few years later, while in the US with his American friends, got a little ... merry... one night.

The group decided to "press ham" against a window.

This, for the uninitiated, means to stick one's bare posterior up against clear glass - "pressing ham". A nice concept.

They passed a McDonalds, and decided to press ham. Dave pressed his butt up against the window.

"I've got a really nice one brewing" he thought, as he imagined a cloud of white gas steaming up the glass for extra effect.

He did not expect to follow through, and ended up pooing all down the outside of McDonald's window, down his legs and all over his trouser bottoms.

A lady sitting in McDeaths, munching on her Freedom Fries, saw the spectacle and was so revulsed she projectile vomited on the other side of the glass, as Dave and his friends hitched up their pants and made off hell for leather, Dave still squelching them out as he ran.

Who, me?

The phone rang chez Mother Mermaid this morning. She picked it up, believing it to be yours truly, and said:
"I'm not in"
A male voice (unknown) replied: "Oh? Well, Mrs Mermaid, would you please tell me when you will be in so I can call you?"
"Oh - well I am in but I'm soon going to be out. I'm just not all there yet." (wittering)
"I see, Mrs Mermaid. I think I'll call back in two hours"
"Okay" gasped my mother, still trying to recover from the embarrassment.
*click*


PS - for those who have questioned my politeness when passing breath (dennis, hitch, tuscan and the rest of you lot), it runs in the family - The Proper Rules to Follow

WARNING!!!! NEW SCAM IN THE UK

I dont often forward things on, but a warning to you: if a man comes to your door and says he is conducting a survey, and asks to see your bum, do NOT show him your bum.

This is a scam. He only wants to see your bum.

Please take a second to forward this to your friends. I wish I had known this yesterday. I feel so dirty and cheap.

Australians ARE funny!

This is worth watching all the way through!!!!

The Scarborough Fair Fiasco

red lolly, yellow lolly

I promised y'all this gem - I am sure the parents among you will enjoy this.

When visiting my dear friend in Scarborough last October, we happened upon a delightful (!) establishment called Yates's Wine Bar. It being raining, only 2pm and me needing to kill an hour before heading home to London-Town, we were stuck for a warm and dry environment to while away an hour. So don't judge me.

Anyway, after a blackcurrant and soda (favourite former tipple of us when we were impoverished students) or two, I needed to visit the ladies' powder room.

As some of you may know, whenever I have an occasion to visit a public convenience, something untoward usually happens. Or rather, I do something to embarass my friends. This time, however, I was behaving myself impeccably. While washing my hands, a young Northern mother came in and was patiently trying to get her three children of various ages to go to the toilet, flush, wash their hands etc. She had sucessfully managed to get two of them cleaned up but the youngest, a girl of about six, was not so amenable.

"I want an ice lolly!"

"You cant have an ice-lolly right now darling" said her mother.

"yes I can! You can get them from the machine", she said, pointing to the wall behind us.

Her mother and I smiled at each other, as we mentally envisaged her pointing erroneously to the condom/aspirin/toothpaste machine. Our smiles turned to horror, however, as we actually looked at the machine.

It was not for condoms, aspirin or toothpaste.

It was for £3 handbag-sized dildos. And the little girl was vigorously pointing at a picture of a saucy woman licking a great big red "Ice lolly".

Licking