Nein!

One of the stories I have been editing today is about a fund manager who does skydiving in his spare time. One particular paragraph really set me about laughing, however, as I felt my editing skills put sorely to the test in the face of very inappropriate humour.

The paragraph ran thus:

‘Eric has jumped with people of all ages. “The youngest was my daughter, who I took up for her 15th birthday. The oldest was a man aged 82 who had landed on Normandy beaches during D-Day. It was very emotional for him as the jump was onto a Normandy beach.”’

I really want to edit it to read:

‘Eric has jumped with people of all ages. “The youngest was my daughter, who I took up for her 15th birthday. The oldest was a man aged 82 who had landed on Normandy beaches during D-Day. It was very emotional for him as the jump was onto a Normandy beach and we had arranged for a German soldier to be waiting for him with a Schmeisser.”’

Oh well something had to make me laugh this miserable new year.

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