I got to wondering today… what ringtone does the Devil use? I’m pretty sure he’s got an iphone, but what tune does it play, when one of his fallen angels is calling to check in?
For a while I thought “Crazy Frog” was a given. I doubt there is a more annoying sound in this world or any under. But perhaps the Devil is a jazz fan – maybe he grooves to some obscure Thelonius Monk track? Then again, he may well have a loyalty to opera. Something overwrought and Germanic, I’m thinking, not a frothy piece of Mozart: Wagner. Not Faust, that’d be too corny.
What do you reckon – what’s the devil’s ringtone?
Fun in a box 
Bohemian Rhapsody. The bit in the middle from that classic sequence in Wayne’s World.
Or maybe not. On Spicks and Specks a few weeks ago, they said there was a chord that was once banned by the Catholic church because it was just too evil. I forget what it was called, the Devil’s Trident or something similar. Nah, that would be just too obvious, wouldn’t it?
I give up. Just put me down for anything by Justin Beaver.
Hehehe. I’d nearly forgotten all about dear little Jussy Beaver.
I’ve never heard of the Devil’s Chord. It’s probably on utube, I’ll see if I can track it down.
‘Late Night Live’ theme has to get a mention. It is so bent!
I think you might be onto something, Stafford. I bet the Devil likes it loud and brassy.
UPDATE:
You were so close with the Trident, Catty.
The Tritone, or Devil’s Chord, is a musical interval such as the augmented fourth spanning three whole tones.
As heard in the Gotterdammerung… see, told you the Devil loves Wagner; Jimi Hendrix’s Purple Haze – and the Simpson’s Theme.
http://www.forteantimes.com/features/articles/94/the_devils_chord.html
No, no, no. Far too obvious.
Clearly none of you have had the benefits of early childhood exposure to a relative with religious mania and borderline psychotic evangelical tendencies.
It is really very simple.
The devil is a trickster, and he WILL seduce you.
Thus: Tony Bennett, crooning ‘If I ruled the world’.
Hehehe.
Yeah, but it kinda swings. OMG! That’s how it starts, isn’t it?
Don’t bend your ears towards, Tony, my children! Come toward the light!!
Yeah. Bugger Tony. (well, not literally). I’m a Tom Jones girl myself. What’s New, Pussycat? (woah, woah, woa-woah!)
Well, as a compromise how about Michael Jackson’s ‘I’m Bad’?
How about a different Deadly Sin for each day of the week?
Gluttony – “Hungry Like the Wolf”
Sloth – “Sitting on the Dock of the Bay”
Greed – “Gimme, gimme, gimme (a man after midnight)”
Lust – “Sexy Back”
Envy – “Green Eyed Monster”
Pride – “We are the Champions”
I can’t pin Wrath down. “Khe Sanh”, “London’s Burning”, “Bar-room Blitz”….?
If you want to incite my wrath, just play Barry Manilow.
And then sing along…
“At the Copa… don’t fall in -”
Nah, I can’t do it to you, Quokka. Not while you’re studying. How are the new shelves, btw?
Good, but much to my surprise the remaining boxes have not unpacked themselves.
I’d give you the name of my tradesman, but he’s got a lot on at the moment. Maybe next year?
Sing me a sooooooong, Barry Manilow,
I’m lonesome and I don’t know what to do.
Sing me a sooooooong, sing it sad and low,
No-one knows how to suffer quite like you.
Sing me a sooooooong, Barry Manilow,
Your songs can really comfort me, I’m lucky.
Sing me a sooooooong, sing it sad and low,
I wish I didn’t have to feel so yukky…..
***big orchestral finish***
I wish I didn’t have to feel…… sooooo YUKKYYYYYYY!!!!
I’ve never seen “lucky” rhymed with “yucky” before, Catty. Lyrical genius.
This is why you get the big quarterly APRA checks… how were the strawberry balls, btw?
Quokka, leave them long enough and the Box Faery will do your job for you. You’ll open the boxes, only to find that you’ve packed up a lot of absolute garbage, not even fit to take to Lifeline.
Sorry, Madam, I can’t take credit for the lyrics. I heard it on the radio once. Ray Charles, perhaps? I have an excellent memory for lyrics, but can’t remember names to save myself.
That’s why I call the Boss ‘darling’. I forgot his name years ago.
UPDATE #2:
Well, although we have yet to agree on the definitive Devil’s ringtone, we now know what his number is: 0888 888 888.
Check this out:
http://www.couriermail.com.au/news/breaking-news/spooked-phone-bosses-suspend-0888-888-888-after-everyone-who-owns-it-dies/story-e6freonf-1225871352494
Boy singers and boy bands = spawn of the Devil….take your pick.
Quick update: 1st sorry, haven’t got a clue about the devil’s ringtone.
2nd, got a call yesterday, results of Friday’s biopsy in early – Negative BUT the Doc doesn’t believe it, she thinks she’s probably missed the lump entirely. Apparently I AM the living definition of tough titties, and they actually bent a needle trying to get through the breast tissue to the lump. So I toddled off yesterday for another biopsy, they used a different technique and took at least a dozen samples. They hope to have those results today, they’ve marked them URGENT, otherwise it will be tomorrow now. Either way the Doc remains convinced I have cancer, and even if there is another negative result she will be recommending surgery.
So NOW I am freaking out! I don’t know why, but the possibility that things are okay is making me more nervous than when I was just flat out told it was bad news. The waiting is really getting to me now.
Which begs the question – Whatever happened to little Jamie Redfern?
Oh Mayhem, poor you. The waiting and the uncertainty really is the shittiest thing to deal with. Fingers crossed, I’ll be thinking of you.
Quokka, do not – repeat DO NOT leave your unpacking to the faeries! They will put more stuff IN the boxes. Within a week, they’ll be bringing in extra boxes and filling up those, too.
On the upside, they’ll be filling the boxes with stuff filched from the rest of the house. When you do unpack, there will be a veritable treasure trove of odd socks, can openers, buttons, pens, unpaid bills and possibly your mobile phone.
Madam, I asked my dear friend at Darrell Lea about the strawberry balls. She’s never heard of them. She said that’s not unusual – some Darrell Lea stores get stock in from other suppliers as well as their DL stuff. I would weep profusely at the news, but I am consoled with the Walnut Log that my beautiful, darling friend (whom I love with all my heart) sent me in the mail. With Special Brazil Toffee. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: There’s nothing better than a good friend. Except a good friend with chocolate.
Mayhem, I thought it was supposed to be ‘no news is good news’, not ‘good news is no news’. Your doctor has it arse-about. I hope she didn’t get the biopsy arse-about. You don’t want a needle stuck in there, I can promise you. Really, I can.
….and now I can’t get the image of a rosemary sprig enema out of my head….
Poor Mayhem – but I really think this is goodish… well, at least not bad… news. After all, a mammogram is just a glorified x-ray. Sometimes those shadows are difficult to interpret. Hang in there and try not to chew your nails down to the quick – you never know when you might need to claw someone’s eyes out!
Mmm… Brazil Toffee. What a pity I have to journey to the Plaza of Doom to get to a Darrell Lea. Perhaps I’ll put holes in the kids’ socks so I’ve got an excuse to go…
Quokka, if the Box Faeries leave you an extra stapler, can I please have it? I always seem to accidently buy the evanescent sort, that evaporate into thin bloody air less than a day after you bring them home.
Beware the dreaded stapler faerie!!!!!
Meh.
The boxes are mostly full of study notes, which I need in case I ever have to prove that I’ve done a particular subject that they’ve tweaked and renamed as some other bit of faffarse. They all need to be sorted and stuffed into plastic file storage boxes, and then stuffed into a closet somewhere and forgotten.
I figure these are best left till after exams as I have bigger worries, such as learning biochemical pathways. And besides, the cats like sleeping on the boxes.
I too suffer from vanishing staplers. If I find any extras in my boxes I will let you know, MM.
Catty I went to Mrs. Flannery’s health food store today to get sulphur free Sweet Chilli Sauce (we make potato wedges, a lot, and as I can’t find the McCormack’s cheesy nacho wedge sachets anywhere at the moment, its a necessity) – and while I was cursing that they were out of sulphur free chocolate sultanas, I noticed that they had chocolate coated cherries, strawberries, and something else that didn’t look interesting enough for my brain to retain.
The labels insisted they were sulfur free so I bought a selection and they are indeed yummy. Not as yummy as the toxic Darrell Lea strawberry balls from the Queen Street Mall shop, but they’re pretty damned good and as far as my digestion goes, thus far – consequence free.
Result positive. See the surgeon next thursday. I’m okay, relieved to know really.
As in tomorrow, Thursday, surely?
They can’t possibly be making you wait over a week? What, are they surgeons or plumbers?
Bastards.
Mayhem. Dear, beautiful Mayhem. It’s a hard road you’re about to travel. If you need a hand along the way, you know where we are. And when you get through this, we are going to celebrate. BIG time. Preferably with half naked firemen and martinis.
As in Thursday the 3rd of June. It’s okay Catty, I will use that week to improve my fitness for the trials ahead. Apparently the time difference between private and public is maybe a week. I have it on good authority that the surgeon I am seeing is the best, and that the breast care team at The Mater is AWSM. I’m happy with that. The surgery will be maybe a week after that appointment, two at the most. It’s not bad when you see people with other serious ailments languishing on waiting lists for many months at a time.
Also confirmation today that reconstructive surgery, including reduction for the other side, is free, and the exciting part of that is, I can if I want, get them to take fat from my tummy to make my new boob. How AWSM is that??? That of course is only if a mastectomy is called for, and will be about 12 months after the original surgery. So I would be lopsided for a while.
Please don’t stress too much girls, I am doing okay. I know it won’t be easy, but I’ve done tough before, and I can do it again. I will try to remember to call on the support I have available and if I sometimes go MIA, don’t panic, I’ll be back. You DON’T get rid of me that easily!
Breast reduction and a tummy tuck? Are you sure you’ve got the big C, Mayhem… sounds like you won a spot on a make over show!
The Mater are tops, they’ll take good care of you.
As will we, given half a chance. I’ll try not to be annoying… well, more annoying than nature intended, anyway… but you sing out if you need anything, ‘kay?
Now, who’s up for breakfast pancakes on Sunday the 19th of June?
Put me down for a maybe.
Mayhem, that’s rotten news, I’m so sorry to hear that.
The Wesley are a great bunch and I’m sure they’ll take good care of you.
Do ask about their support groups.
There’s a lot of research to show that women who join a support group do much better in recovery than those who go it alone.
If you want to see a naturopath, the two who specialize in treating cancer here in Brisbane are Janet Schloss and David McLeod.
If it was me in your shoes, I’d probably want to be on a program of nutritional/herbal support before anyone even mentions chemo.
Good luck with the surgery, and keep us posted.
And Morgana – Sugar and stodge?
Count me in.
Better check your calendar and mine are in tune, though.
According to mine, Sunday is the 20th.
One year my sister gave me a diary for Xmas that had all the wrong dates in it.
She got very cross when I told her and even crosser when I didn’t use it. It was one of those ‘funny’ ones by that nasty woman who used to host big brother – which I’ve never watched – so I was instantly suspicious that it wasn’t a publishing error, it was just part of the marketing strategy.
Just in case you have the same diary…
No, you’re quite right, it’s the 20th. The mistake was all mine, trying to count on from the Monday being the 14th without the benefit of enough pots of espresso.
Mind you, I’ve had the coffee now and I don’t feel much sharper.
Bloody full mooon.
Hmm.
I’ve had a few days where I think life would run smoother if I was somewhat less sharp with those around me.
i.e. I rang council to complain about yet another bloody car parked far enough over our driveway that I couldn’t get out (the yellow line over it means nothing to some of these idiots) and the council phone person tried to tell me that the inspectors couldn’t do anything about the car unless I went out in the early morning drizzle and got the number plate and the make of the car.
She said ‘How will the inspector know which car to ticket unless you give me the number plate and the make of the car? how will he know what to look for?’
I tried to count to ten but failed.
My response:
‘As challenging as this is for you, I am pretty sure that if you tell the parking inspector my ADDRESS he will be able to figure this out for himself.’
‘But what if the car moves before he gets there?’
‘Then I will be very pleased because I can get out, the inspector will not need to write a ticket and there’s $100 less in the council coffers to top up YOUR pay cheque next month.’
She wasn’t pleased with me but it shut her the hell up and it must have made her think.
To my great amazement a parking cop appeared within ten minutes and ticketed the moron.
What is it with council workers? Is there some sort of personality test that you have to fail to get a job in there or what?
I’m seeing a whole new career path opening up before me…..
You’re lucky you have a magic yellow line, Quokka.
I used to live on Brunswick Street… the nicer down near the park end, not the too-close-to-the-Valley-for-comfort end… and we’d often get parked in by patrons of the adjacent restaurant.
Some people seem to take that bit of flared concrete that says “driveway” to most as an invitation to park as long as they like.
Catty, I’d offer to write you a job referral but I don’t think I’d feel comfortable describing you in the terms that are likely to qualify you for a council job.
And that yellow line has nothing to do with luck, MM, it took sheer bloody mindedness and years of complaints before they acquiesced to my dummy spits and put that one there.
Problem being that it’s a game of musical chairs in our street, but with parking spaces.
Long ago, before the Great Feral Plague that descended from the international airport, we bought in a street that houses several ex boarding houses. They had been that way since WW2, if not before.
Those were the good old days, when they were full of refugees – and in some instances escapees – from jail, the psyche ward, AA and Narc Anon, and few of the inmates had cars, so parking was not an issue. There was always room for the paddy wagon, the Rat Patrol and fire trucks to pull up and wander in.
Things have changed in recent years and all the old bedsits have been tarted up and are full of students, all of whom seem be driving Mumsy’s old car.
Given the disregard they have for the suburb’s 2 hour parking, I’d say that Mumsy must be paying for their parking fines.
I went down to the garage at 2.30 and by the time I pulled up, there was a truck load of skips blocking me in.
We’re just popular. That, and the front of the house looks like an old Greek woman probably died in here 8 months ago and nobody has shown up to claim the body. Which is pretty much how it looked when we bought it.
We call it ‘The Italian Security System’.
All it needs is a burnt out car body out front to be complete.
It works to keep the junkies out but The Look that we strive for doesn’t really encourage much in the way of Re Steck Pah from the ferals.
Ah, that’s why my job application to BCC wasn’t even answered I must’ve failed the incompatence/lazy/stupid test. Nice to know these things, thanks Quokka.
Oh, pleeeeeeease, Quokka. I’m a bloody minded, obsessive compulsive pedant with anal retentive tendencies and a personality deficiency….. really I am….. Don’t snatch my dream of Parking Inspector glory away before I even get the chance to obsess about it!
*sigh*
I wonder if there are any Chicken Inspector jobs going?
Hey, you have the same security system we do. Daggy facade, unkempt gardens, hard rubbish for next year’s collection stacked in plain view in the carport, unwashed old car. It seems to work (although any bicycles not chained down are gone by morning, and our petrol tank gets milked twice a week). The hard part is convincing the kidlets that they aren’t supposed to leave the inside of the house looking the same as the outside. Bloody kidlets. I should write them a ticket.
Quokka, you’re such an effective lobbyist, I’m sure if you get on to Council they’ll install you a set of retractable tyre spikes… or a pirana moat… or something.
Or perhaps a self-installed sign:
“We LOVE the last person who parked across our driveway. He made great compost.”
We’ve got Tibetan prayer flags out the front. When I was tying them up, Elf Boy asked “What are those, Mumma?” I explained that they were prayer flags, and every time they fluttered in the breeze they sent a prayer for world peace out into the universe. His little face lit up with glee. “They’ll think you’re mad.” he said, radiant with satisfaction, then wandered off.
I always wondered what those things meant.
I just thought it meant ‘Hippy within, ferals with bongoes welcome’, but maybe that’s a cultural thing unique to the West End surrounds.
Catty, did you ever see the movie of ‘Bedazzled’ with Brendan Fraser and Liz Hurley as the Devil, where she was screwing with the parking metres and writing tickets for everyone, just for kicks? I can’t find that scene on youtube, but I can see you enjoying it.
And Scott, what can I say, except I think you’ve missed a golden opportunity for a payout from stress leave and bullying from working with such types.
I have found plenty of BCC phone people who do have a sense of humour and a Clue but for every one of those, there’s a Cheryl. (not her real name but probably what it should be.)
Sense of humour and a clue? Oh, no no no, I wouldn’t fit in there at ALL.
I wonder if they need anybody at Centrelink?
I think you’ve got too vibrant a personality for Centrelink, Catty… actually, I doubt that having any personality at all is in the Centrelink remit.
I think you’d be a natural working the phones for a psychic hotline.
(When I typed that the first time it came out as “phonies”… must have been a Freudian typo…)
WooooOOOooooo, I see a tall dark stranger taking an overseas holiday…. woooOOOOoooo….. I see a large sum of money in the tall dark stranger’s bag…. wooooOOOOoooo….. I see the tall dark stranger’s phone number…. oh, is that the time? I have to go. Right now. *click* beep-beep-beep-beep-beep.
Yeah – like that!
That sounds more like the job description for Press Secretary for a member of the LNP.
Hehehe. Good one, Quokka.
So far we’ve got you and me and maybe Mayhem for pancakes… should I nip over to Greybeard’s blog and ask him, do you think, or shall we keep it intimate? If there are too many people we have to talk to, it will sadly retard our pancake consumption.
New Blog Site – specifically for cancer related posts. Check it out here:
http://mayhem-oflaughterandtears.blogspot.com/
or via my usual place.
I just speed-crocheted another beanie. I had enough wool this time.
Yay!
Now I reward myself with chocolate. Mmmmm… mint Bubbly….
Through some strange conjunction of the forces of confectionary, guess what the offspring and I guzzled as we watched “Robin Hood” last night?
That’s right… Mint Bubbly.
Doo doo doo doo (that last bit was meant to be the theme from “Tales of the Unexpected” – which, when you think about it, wouldn’t be a bad ringtone for The Lord of the Flies)
Ooooh, I do love a man in tights. Mel Gibson in Hamlet always gets my palms sweaty.
I didn’t know we could suggest tunes from movies for the ringtone, or I would have gone with the shower scene from Psycho.
I must be out of synch because I purchased pineapple lumps while the rest of you went for mint bubbly.
This Robin Hood experience, was it the Phone Tosser or some other tosser?
Definitely call upon Sir Greybeard, if he comes kitted up in items from his home armory we might be able to convince the staff that he’s an installation and we don’t have to pay for his food.
And Mayhem, nice work, I keep cross posting with you here so the blog should do a better job of keeping me up to speed. Good luck.
Mmm… pineapple lumps.
No, I’m not sure that I could come at Rusty as Robin. This was a cast of relative unknowns on ABC2 – and not a tight amongst them.
I’ll wander over Greybeard’s way and clue him in.
How’s the studying, Quokka? Is your brain full, yet?
No tights? Gee, their legs would have been mighty cold!
Yes, Madam. Quokka’s brain IS full. That’s why she bought pineapple lumps instead of Bubbly. It was one of them psychosomatic manifestations, stimulated by an overwhelming need for a week of tropical beaches and daiquiris. Pineapple daiquiris.
I’ve designed a new retaining wall for the front fence with a sexy new gate, purchased new side tables for the bed and rearranged the furniture.
In other words, I have every confidence I’ll be repeating the same subject next semester.
A new wall? Goody! Something for the Bogdwellers to drape their used ladyfriends over. Or prop their wet mattresses against.
You are so neighbourly, Quokka.
Oooh! I love a good retaining wall, and our yard is – depressingly – flat as a tack. Is it going to be one of those fancy ones, with little alcoves so tasteful plantings can cascade artfully down?
Never fear, Quokka. Sometimes by staring… to all intents and purposes, mindlessly… at lecture notes, some facts manage to trickle in to the brain in a semi-usuable form, suitable for regurgitation in exams. Otherwise I’d STILL be at U of Q, repeating biochem.
Yes, I’m still not sure how I managed to pass biochem, much less any of its relatives in later years. Today’s project is to be able to parrot off Seratonin Syndrome by the end of the day. But that comes later, I have much in the way of Fluff to suck up with the vacuum cleaner. Amazing how woolly the cats are getting after their summer haircuts.
Mmm…we already have a retaining wall that’s 1.5m high but it’s 80 years old and has some problems. We still don’t have a front door – this will involve extending the porch to turn it into a real deck – but the part of the house where we need to do this is kind of sliding down the hill slowly.
So the old retaining wall must go and new supports must go in if my dining room is not to slide into the neighbour’s yard – admittedly over the next 10 – 20 years.
Its an old house, these things happen.
We are considering a rather large project for sometime in the next couple of years – deck out front, new double car port in place of the old crumbly retaining wall and we need to do some work up the back yard. My old garden was designed in the days before the drought and the invasion of brush turkeys. Not much has survived either of those and I’m convinced that the Greeks around here had the right idea.
i.e. create cement terraces, tile them over and sit on your porch with the winchester waiting for the GD birds to return.
Last year’s renos were essentially internal and cosmetic – bathrooms, polish floors, new paint and built in closets.
The outside of the house still shouts Welcome To Little Greece circa 1932 so we’ll have to do something about that at some point.
Meh.
On with the day, must remove fluff from house before it clogs brain any further.
Forgot….all renovation attempts around here need to factor in the habits of the locals.
I’m going with the Fort Quokka philosophy to any and all new construction.
Any alcove around here would simply double as a public urinal/Lair for Stalkers, junkies and – given the presence of the ambulance and unconscious girls in recent times – possibly a hideout for rapists.
I have tried to garden out the front but got sick of passers by tossing cigarette buts, McDonald’s wrappers and beer bottles in said garden.
So alcoves and cascading terraced gardens, as attractive as they are, would probably attract more in the way of ferals and their by products. I’m thinking large rock type retaining wall with a nice trail of pointy bougainvillea should give the local ferals all the welcome they’re going to get from me.
Hehehe… Bougainvillea is such a versatile landscaping plant: drought tolerant with showy tropical blooms and huge, sneaky, venom-tipped spikes.
There are some remarkably large carnivorous plants, but I don’t think they’d tolerate the caustic splashback from idle urinators. I’d love to see one tangle with a scrub turkey, though.
Perhaps we could get PNB or Jennicki to ship over some poison ivy, to round out your “Irish Keep Away!” theme – although probably the razor wire will shout loudly enough.
We planted rose bushes in our front yard. They are so pretty, with pink, yellow and crimson flowers. We also put in some little potted yukkas which have gone viral and are now taller than I am.
It’s wonderful, Quokka. Our garden is a stunning (if somewhat unkempt) display of natural colour, adorned with enough spikes and thorns to keep all but the most foolhardy feral away from the front windows. More than once we’ve had uninvited visitors become inextricably entangled. They usually give up on their clothing, and simply step out of it and walk away.
Disconcerting, to find a jacket or an ugg boot entwined amongst the roses, but better than finding the window jimmied open and the stereo gone.
Occasionally, the Boss tries to guilt me into pruning or weeding. I merely remind him that if I do cut the bushes back, his Xbox will probably be nicked within the week. That shuts him up.
We keep finding unwanted shoes on the footpath in front of our house – mostly thongs, but occasionally a single battered trainer. Not sure why ferals would be using footwear in the first place but clearly it doesn’t take long for them to decide it’s a mistake and discard it.
Speaking of ferals and their feet, I thought I’d issue a general warning about Lock n Load to our Brisbane readers.
We went down there Sunday am for breakfast and they weren’t open. We saw a few dreadlocked and shoeless staff arrive by bike, one of them cranked up the music, stared at us as though we were a huge inconvenience to her day, and shouted over the Doof Doof noise that they’d be open at 8.30am (not 7am as the sign states) if we’d like to come back.
I had a theory that the staff had saved time that day by neglecting to bathe, and as they looked like they hadn’t gone to bed from the night before we went off to a yuppy establishment in Melbourne Street which had staff who appeared to be shod and bathed. Not as tasty as the food from L&L but nice to know the sprigs of herbs had not been plucked from the space between their toes.
There was a French Patisserie opposite called ‘French Twist’ so we got chocolate hazelnut gateaux for ‘later’.
And there was a deli in the same complex where I discovered real Dutch cocoa.
Judging by the colour it’s been produced by child slave labor in Africa and they’ve added a few of the slaves to the mix, so while I know I will rot in hell for this, I’m quite excited by the prospect of making brownies and chocolate cake with this instead of Cadbury’s once exams are over.
http://www.ephemera-inc.com/product.asp?specific=2640
I’m thinking of getting this sign made up for the front gate.
Mmm… Patisserie.
Double Mmmm…. Dutch cocoa.
Regrettable to hear that L n L let you down, Quokka. 8:30 start for breakfast? When you’re up before dawn that’s practically lunchtime. Such a lovely courtyard, too.
It’s a jaunty sign. But how about:
“Unattended children will be sacrificed”, in tasteful Gothic lettering, silver on black.
Judging from the way some of them wander the streets around here, I think that already happens at home.
Unattended children are the norm here in Melbourne:
http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2010/05/13/2898010.htm
Hey, YOU gave her that cat, didn’t you Quokka? AND the espresso that had her awake at 3:30am.
Well done!
Guilty as charged. Perhaps I should adjust my strategy and offer to give the children pet rats? Lord knows there’s plenty to spare.
No, pet rats are heartbreaking. They get two year old tumours and then you have to have them put to sleep.
A kitten is a gift that’ll keep giving for 15 years, if you’re lucky. And might help out with the rats, too!
We could do with some kittens around here. About a month ago, a new family moved in around the corner. Since then, the neighbourhood cats have been gradually disappearing.
I hear tell the little old grandfather is seen taking a different cat into their house every few days. I also hear the kids have very odd-smelling dim sims in their school lunches every day.
Coincidence?
The lady next door is not taking any chances. Her one remaining cat is now an inside cat.
Which is why my cats are contained to the house and the Clearnet Cat Max enclosure. We lost one on the road when we first bought here and I plan to never go through that again. My two older cats at the time – leftovers from my student days – were getting old and senile and both developed skin cancer on their noses.
Vet had to do excisions on their noses which left them both looking and sounding like Darth Vader with a sinus infection. They lasted another five years but those combined experiences have given me a horror of having Free Range Cats.
I know what you mean about rats, MM, been there, done that, had the therapy for it. I do think the rats could make a good substitute for my Evil Plan, though, given their potential for causing heartbreak. That, and my nieces never did figure out that you don’t wave a finger in front of any rat unless you want to bleed.
Slow learners, with scars on their pinkies to prove it.
My brother got himself a white rat for a pet. She was beautiful. Soon after he got himself a delightful girlfriend. She was GORGEOUS. Beautiful rat was insanely jealous of gorgeous girlfriend. In four years, I never saw that rat bite anybody except the girlfriend. Usually when the girlfriend was kissing my brother.
Eventually, gorgeous girlfriend gave the ultimatum. “Her or me!” My brother picked the rat. Go figure!
Hehehe… I wish someone had offered me a choice between a rat and my ex. Actually, either way I would still have ended up with a rodent.
Quokka, on balance I think you’re right. Aesthetically better, too… there’s something very unwholesome about a child wandering home clutching a dirty great rat. Carpet pythons would also send a clear message, but you wouldn’t want to do that to a nice snake.
How about free tattoos for all unattended children?
That’s a given.
When the Bloke’s nephew and niece – then 13 + 10 – stayed with us for school hols a few years ago, he took them down to South Bank markets on the evening before their departure.
Niece found the Temporary Tattoo Tent and insisted on leaving us with a Tattoo.
The Bloke told me when they wandered in and I said ‘Just tell me its not on her butt and make it clear to your brother that I was 3km away when this decision was made.’
She wanted a tramp stamp across her lower back but thankfully he had the sense to suggest she put it somewhere that would be reasonably covered by clothing in October – given that school started back the next week.
Its been three years since their last visit and they’ve invited themselves back in October so God only knows what she’ll want now she’s 13.
Probably an intimate piercing and pole dancing lessons. They grow up so fast!
Are these the kiddies that you detox, Quokka… the poor, bloated pasty little ones for whom you sneak shredded veggies into meals?
I think on their arrival you should brightly announce that October is Juice Fast month and start vitamizing some broccoli with spirulina and wheat germ. They won’t last a night!
Alternatively, offer them 20 bucks a head for every Irishman they can persuade to permanently relocate. They may well be the perfect secret weapon for some ethnic cleansing…
Feed them red cordial and Cheetohs. For the WHOLE DAY before you send them back.
Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-haaaaa!
I think they’re coming for a week, and yes, these are the eczema cursed children that I put on lentil detox last time.
I might feed myself the red cordial and cheetohs before they get here. Pretending to be a responsible adult is a terrible strain on me.
Mmm… Cheetos.
By all means be responsible, but you don’t have to be an adult, Quokka. Stay in your pyjamas all day, say “whatever” a lot and learn how to master something on the Wii.
They’ll love you for it!
video games give me motion sickness but in anticipation of their visit I did go out and buy the Bloke an Xbox and ‘Left For Dead’ – which I’m sure they aren’t allowed to play at home.
God bless JB for showing me The Way.
Fabulous!
Now you’ll hardly need to see or interact with them at all – just poke food and water into their cage… I mean, the games room… and hose them off just before you give them back to their parents.
You may wish to stock up on air freshener, though.
Last time they were here, the Bloke took them to three Worlds in the five days. I hate theme parks so I stayed home to cook and potter, which suited all of us.
I warned him that overindulging them may not go down too well with their parents so this time there’s been a request to only take them to one theme park. Its Sea World, which, other than the water slide place, is the only one I’d actually enjoy so I will probably go to that one.
What this does mean is that I won’t have an out for solitude – which I need a lot of – so I’ll have to think up something else to entertain them. That or I’ll have to be more sociable than nature intended me to be, which just may kill me.
This is what a good aunty should do:
Make sure your insurance policy is up to date. Check for any “not covered for damage done by visiting children” clauses.
Make sure ALL the Xbox games are ones their mother would never approve of. (you’re covered there, I think).
Make sure you have filled your fridge with soft drinks, alcopops, and snack food that can be picked up and eaten immediately. Put all the crappiest local takeaways on speed dial.
Make sure there are little puddles of cash left lying around the house in various high profile places.
As soon as they arrive, tell them they can invite ANYONE they want over, for as long as they want. Offer to pay for transport if their friends are a long way off.
Find two or three websites with skanky porn – give the weblinks to the nephew and show him where the computer is. Also give him the street address of whichever pub the local musos hang out at, and the phone number of that Brad fellow from Sydney who does the fake id’s for $80. Give your nephew the $80.
Buy some black makeup, hair dye, nail polish, plus some retro black pieces from the opshop. Take the niece to the nearest body art place and get her a piercing. Wherever she wants it. Then put her in a dark room with all the black stuff – and a bottle of antiseptic spray (for the piercing). Make sure there is a CD player in the room so she can listen to Veil of Thorns, or Geko, or whatever goth band she’s into, at top volume. Ensure the room has also been fitted out with lots of black drapery, and some dragon lamps/plasma balls from What’s New – I’d suggest candles, but unless you’re keen to cash in that insurance policy, it’s probably not a good idea.
Book yourself into a nice spa. Pop back in each morning to restock the fridge with snacks. Stay at the spa until the day they’re due to leave.
You might want to take the cats and dog with you. Just in case. Oh, and the Bloke. Also, just in case.
Quokka, don’t listen to Catty. Any nephew worth his salt will already have a fake ID AND have memorised all the skanky URLS he requires.
What you should do with the lad is put him to work, Olde England style: chimney sweeping (you may substitute gutter cleaning, here, if you’re without chimney); boot blacking; roof re-thatching.
Got any coal that needs scuttling? Now’s your chance.
The lass should be instructed in the feminine arts: tatting (no, not indelible skin art, making lace with an odd little shuttle thingy); embroidery; decoupage.
And see if you can get them places in Bible Study or other Well-Intentioned Youth Group.
Hey, Madam’s right, Quokka. Get them to unpack, catalogue and file the contents of your last three boxes. I’m sure they’d be delighted with a Happy Meal as reward for their labours.
We just had our last class and my pharmacology lecturer – who is studying Feng Shui – told me that my shit pile is in the Wealth Sector of our house. So I think I’ll be dealing with the shit pile well before the children arrive to 1. Add to it 2. To deplete us of further funds.
Nephew is a more youthful version of The Bloke so he fits into the Too Easy category.
Niece spent a good deal of time moping that we didn’t have High School Musical on tape last time she was here so if she’s progressed to goth, or even, please god, White Snake – I’ll be a happy woman. She’ll be the one going for the fake IDs and the night clubs.
Nephew will probably pester me for lessons on how to cook the Shepherd’s pie that he couldn’t stop eating.
I’m seriously tempted to do so, and say ‘Voila. One blender. Voila part two, every vegetable you pair announced that you would not be eating, by the sack full.’
If you want to take advantage of the Feng Shui wealth corner in your study, remember this:
* Fish are auspicious.
* Flowing water in the home will increase your fortune.
Thus, according to Feng Shui, you must build your new retaining wall so that any nearby rivers are diverted through your study. If there are no fish in the river, placing a tasteful stack of unopened tuna cans on your desk will suffice.
High School Musical…. *urgh*
I think something unholy just slithered across my grave.
Sea World will be fun, though – I’d love to see the new shark display.
http://www.thecatconnection.com/cat/Yeowww-Stinkies-Tin.html
Catty there’s a few of these under the bed in there, whaddya reckon they’ll do for my wealth sector?
MM, seriously, you’d pay to visit Lobes?
Pyew! Stinkies all right! And you must remove them from your wealth sector immediately. They’re oozing yang all over your Qi.
Alternatively, wind chimes deflect negative energy. So if removing the stinkies distresses your kitties too much, try hanging a wind chime under the bed.
I’ve heard something about crossed bamboo flutes, too – and you know those little octagonal mirrors with the red and green foil that you can buy in Chinatown?
Hang some of those under there too.
Hehehe. Either the kittys will think it’s an adventure playground under there, or you’ll permanently derail their fragile psyches.
But seriously, Quokka – you bought the furries some “Yeoow! Stinkies”? Do they love them? I’m wondering if they might be a good gift for my impossible-to-buy-for-sister-who-has-almost-everything_and_loves_her-cat…
They might have to make do with the dust bunnies for entertainment, its not easy to get under my bed.
And yes, the cats have Stinky Fish and they love them.
the other thing that they just love is the Catnip spray that I found in the Pet Cafe. You spray it on the catbed/their favorite cushions or rug and they roll around in it, go into Kitty Cocaine Rush Hour and then they collapse in a heap looking totally chilled out, thanks Dude.
Not all cats respond this way to catnip but one of mine (the psycho one)just lurves his catnip and if there’s someone visiting I do like to show off the whole Fat Freddy’s Cat effect of it.
BTW, when is Mayhem’s surgery?
I’m still a bit fuddled from our lecturer running through everything we’re expected to know for the exam.
*$@)^& biochemical pathways for drugs. Grr.
Feng Shui for Biochemical pathways…. Ensure you close your mouth after ingesting drugs, or your yin will trickle out over your lips. This can be prevented by also swallowing a small mirror, which will reflect any negative Qi that tries to sneak in when you talk.
Horses are an auspicious symbol. If you have injected your drugs, cover the puncture wound with a shetland pony. This will speed the yin’s passage through your bloodstream, as ponies can run very fast.
Fish bring good fortune. If you are fond of snorting your drugs, always keep a tin of sardines handy, and stuff a couple up each nostril after every hit. You will soon be rich. Smelly, but rich.
Catty, you have a gift.
Perhaps you should add ayurvedic sinus cures to your repertoire
I think they could blend well.
ie.
Stand facing east.
Gargle the first urine of the day from a golden cup, and snort it out through alternating nostrils.
If you have unpleasant neighbours, spit the combined snot and urine into their fish pond.
They will move.
For maximum Feng Shui, find a menstruating woman. She will be rife with yin. Stand in the Universal Harmony sector of your home, and gargle her urine from a white birdcage. Make sure you have removed the bird first.
Oh wise one, I found half a dead gecko, encrusted with ants, listing on the left hand side of the bedroom window.
What good or bad omens does this bring to my house, other than the obvious i.e a funeral in the Clan of Asian House Geckos that flourish in my ceiling?
A gecko is a yang symbol, for like a man they will annoy you in the middle of the night with their raucous cries and make marks on your walls.
Ants are full of yin energy, because, like a woman, they work very hard all day and all night and nobody appreciates them.
Therefore, the dead gecko encrusted with ants is an auspicious symbol that your bedroom is in perfect harmony. By no means remove it. You may, however turn it into a shrine by surrounding it with hanging crystals and incense burners.
But not until after your biochemistry exam.
Too late, I removed the half a dead house gecko yesterday.
I fear I must immediately restore harmony in the boudoir by seeking out the curative properties of the 30% off manchester sale in Myers. And perhaps pizza, and a little something from Michel’s patisserie.
Which beats hell out of learning about statins.
Tatty bye now.
Pizza is good Feng Shui, for it is shaped like the lucky turtle. Be sure to eat it in the Harmonious Digestion sector of your house. This is usually the toilet. unless you have a north-facing toilet, in which case you should remove said toilet from your house entirely.
To ensure your inner Qi is not disrupted by the removal of the toilet, place a turtle shaped potty directly opposite your front door. This will allow the yang to flow out.
OMG! I have a north-facing toilet. Thank goodness it’s been years since I cleaned out the shed. I’m pretty sure there’s a turtle potty under the old change-table, behind the mouldy highchair.
Do I have to crowbar the offending toilet off the slab, Oh Mighty Oracle – or will filling it with Redimix and flushing it, thereby permanently rendering it inoperable, suffice?
By the way, Quokka, in case you’re in the market for a turtle potty I found you this one at Etsy:
http://www.etsy.com/shop/claydogstudio
I just love the expectant look on his dear little glazed face.
No need, I have kitty litter.
Yes, Madam. The entire room must be removed completely from your house. It must be immediately replaced with a pergola shaped like a dragon. In the centre of the pergola, you must place a fish pond. No, you can’t use your old porcelain pedestal for the pond – your fish will escape down the s-bend, taking your fortunes with them. Bloody theiving fish.
Aha… so when we had that bad run of goldfish dying in the water feature, every time there was another sad little crossing over the carked goldfish took a bit of my luck to heaven with it?
That explains a lot.
What does it do to your Feng if you have two rats put to sleep?
That depends how long you keep them under your pillow.
Your Qi will not be disturbed by the passing of the rats. Because there were two, there is harmony. Yin and yang, entwined in a perfect balance, even into the next life.
And that’s where the problems start. If you have two live rats indulging in yinyang, you will soon find yourself with 18 rats. This can only be avoided if you move house before the rats reincarnate. Don’t forget to take the turtle potty with you.
I don’t know what I did before I had the benefit of your wisdom, Oh Mighty Sage.
Tell us, what colour and type of writing instrument would be most auspicious for Quokka to take into her exam, and will she achieve higher marks if she places lucky gonks on her desk?
For maximum Feng Shui, Quokka’s desk must be placed in the wisdom sector of her place of education. Check for any rocky outcrops facing East. Place the desk in the centre of the rocky outcrop. If the desk is unbalanced upon this rocky outcrop, a small fish tucked under the wobbly leg should fix things.
Remember that clutter is our enemy. Quokka, you must ensure that your desk is clear of all clutter. Before beginning your exam, remove everything from the top of the desk, including all writing implements and cluttery exam papers. Replace them with a single sparrow in a vase.
This is starting to sound like Rimmer doing the space engineer’s exam, where he wrote ‘I am a fish’ until his hands bled.
Assuming I am talking to Red Dwarf officionados and you know what I’m on about.
Did he pass?
Yes, he passed OUT.
Ladies, advice please. I am under pressure again to join Face Waste to keep up with a few people. I have a few loved ones who are converts and think that it’s just great.
I took a cruise on over there to see what Gen Y in my life are up to. They all seem to converse in a language that blends high drama with gangster rap and the kind of chatter you hear from the cool kids in year 7. I saw a post from the 19yro from last July saying that she was in hospital with a broken neck. Odd, but when I saw her two months later her neck was just fine.
Is this how everyone under 30 communicates or are my batch of Gen Y just determined to join the ranks of those in my family who never made it past the emotional age of 9?
I really don’t think I’m up to the challenge of doing Face Waste with Gen Y. I think it kills brain cells.
Meh.
I am a staunch non-joiner of FaceWaste, myself. From time to time I get those plantive little emails advising me that Some Fool wants to be my FW friend and I delete them without mercy. As you know, it’s not that I’m at all averse to spending vast amounts of time faffing on the Net while the housework piles up and the children devolve into pond scum through wanton parental negligence. I just think FW is a bit like living in a glass-walled house with no knickers on… kind of like an opportunity for everyone to be Paris Hilton, I suppose. You never know when you might wish all the inimate details of your life, and that of your family, friends and associates ISN’T online for all the world to Google.
Tell them you’ve gone steampunk and you’ll only correspond via quill scrivened parchment, delivered by raven.
Computer screens are a rich source of yang. Menstruating women are a rich source of ying. Thus, a menstruating woman using a computer is having sex.
It is important to remember that the peacock is a symbol of fertility. So, unless you desire a fruitful union with your computer, remove all peacocks from the room before blogging.
Windows are good Feng Shui. Knickers are bad Feng Shui. This is why Paris Hilton has remained so amazingly rich, despite having the cognitive ability of a guinea pig.
Oh, dear. Now I desperately want to send all my mail via quill scrivened parchment. Or its cheaper synthetic equivalent, thanks to offspring who have the same Feng Shui effect on my wealth sector as a bucketful of cruelly executed fish.
But can I send it by crow? Ravens are a bit too Poe for me. And I really like crows.
MM, I most heartily agree.
I skim through the news online each morning and am always horrified when some poor silly teenager has managed to remove themselves from the planet in some horrific way. It takes about a nanosecond before the media has a hold of all the inane trivia of their life through one of their darling ‘friend’s on Face Waste, and the first thing you see is said teenager, knickerless, with satanic symbols painted on their butt, pole dancing at the church fete when they were fourteen.
I’m stewing because an adult friend assured me that the only way she could stay connected to Gen Y was via Facebook and while they don’t thank her for BD gifts (a boil that is yet to be lanced, here in Casa Quokka, next times said children blow in to these parts) the children are quick to photograph said gift, post it on face book and tell all their friends how pleased they are to have it.
I argued that this is just Showing Off to the masses and it has nothing whatsoever to do with sentiments of gratitude and appreciation.
I think that the internet is a marvelous tool for communication, online support groups and education…but seriously, does the phrase ‘Hang lo Mo Fo’ from Spinning Eagle in California really add anything of value to anyone’s needs for intimacy?
Catty, we’ve crossed posted but I think between us we should found the Wild Harpies Trans Continental Carrion Pigeon Service.
I’ll offer up my typing services, someone else can source the parchment, and then I’ll need a dart gun to tranquilize a brush turkey and a rocket launcher to get it airborne.
I’ve seen a badminton net at the Op shop that should do nicely for catching incoming brush turkeys. Try Havock for the rocket launcher.
Not sure about the Wild Harpies thing – I am a tad past my prime, you know. How about Moderately Agitated Harpies?
For the parchment: You know how books always have a blank page between the cover and the title page? I heard a classmate once went to the library and scored a month’s worth of paper by tearing out all those blank pages.
Shall I nip down to the library and get us some cut-rate paper?
Given that the goal here is to communicate with Gen Y – and given the amount of importance this seems to have in their lives, I don’t think that there’s any need to risk getting yourself arrested in a public library.
A roll of industrial grade toilet paper should pretty well cover it.
And I think we need something that stands for ‘Meh’ rather than ‘Mah’.
Moderately Exasperated Harpies, perhaps?
I thought that Meh was an acronym for Message Ends Here.
But Mildly Exasperated Harpies would do just as well.
I’m wondering if I should have a shot at hacking into MyFaceSpaceWaste. It would be rather amusing if everybody logged in one morning and found that the entire network had a picture of Kevin Rudd as their avatar. Especially if I sent a forged letter from Julia, claiming responsibility. Via carrier turkey.
Fabulous plan, ladies. Here’s a logo that might come in handy:
http://www.google.com.au/imgres?imgurl=http://geeksdreamgirl.com/images/harpie.jpg&imgrefurl=http://geeksdreamgirl.com/2008/03/21/no-wonder-harpies-are-so-angry/
Now, I’m alarmed by all this talk of defacing public library books. I think you can kill two birds with one stone, here, and make your own vellum out of flayed Irishman. Sure, there might be some annoying freckling here and there but it’ll just accentuate the hand-made effect. If you should come across any potentially identifying scars, birthmarks or tattoos, however, I’d chop them up finely and feed them to your couriers. You don’t want to be scrivening on any forensic evidence.
That would have been a good idea, but Leprechaun skins don’t make good parchment. They dissolve the next morning.
Don’t ask me how I know this.
Hmm… perfect for secret messages, then. Perhaps ASIO would be interested.
Shhhhh! Do you want to get us all ‘eliminated’?
Hehehe… ASIO don’t “eliminate” people like us! They’re too busy clustering around baristas, making sure their macchiatos don’t clash with their designer silk shirts, and fiddling with ipads.
If you don’t believe me, check out JB’s take on their own recruitment blurb:
http://www.brisbanetimes.com.au/opinion/blogs/blunt-instrument/the-man-with-the-golden–cufflinks-and-matching-tie-pin/20100224-p39q.html
oh, o.k then… just don’t mention the leprechaun parchment to anybody wearing silk shirts in a café.
Bugger. Now I’m craving fresh ground coffee and biscotti. *sigh*
I got a slice of white-chocolate marble cake from Michel’s patisserie when I ducked into the Myer Centre yesterday.
marvelous stuff.
Gee, thanks Quokka. Now I’ve drooled all over the bloody keyboard.
You do realise, don’t you, that the only auspicious Feng Shui position for that cake is in my mouth? I’ll swap you a lucky turtle shaped pizza for it.
Oh, dear. The pizza has gone all cold and eaten. Maybe next time?
Mmm… white chocolate marble cake.
Speaking of biscotti, I saw some amazing old coffee makers on “Collectors” last night. I must acquire an Atomic, in purple… I hope they made it in purple. Plain silver would do, I suppose.
I have one of those ratty little cast iron stove top espresso makers. I bought it at the train station in Rome.
Understandable, considering I’d just been to the McDonalds across the road from the station, and they serve beer at Italian McDonalds.
I think its important to interrupt the current discussion of cake and coffee for important matters of state.
That UFO that they saw over the eastern part of Australia this morning…any theories on what it was doing?
I’m hoping it came here to beam up a few family members and give anal probes to all.
Maybe they came back to get the anal probe they left in Lobes.
That was a brain scan.
That’s what has me amazed by people who say they have met aliens, they all get the anal probe. You have just traveled hundreds or thousands of light years and the first thing you do on encountering a new lifeform is give it an anal probe?
Maybe ET is having a laugh at our expense hmm? That’s it! Teenage aliens taking the parents flying saucer for a spin, popping pink pills and messing with the humans brains!
The pink pills are for travel sickness.
I know this because my mother used to dose me with them for car trips any greater than 2 miles.
They make the resulting vomit go all pink and milky.
Perhaps the aliens heard the rumours that most humans’ taste is in their arse, and they’re just trying for scientific verification?
I think the spinny light show is by way of advance advertising… you know, when the circus was coming to town they used to send an elephant and a few clowns on ahead to whip up enthusiasm?
I think they’re saying “Puny humans, a mere spiral light is enough to get you all talking – wait until you see the Galaxcton Destroyers!” Then a gargly version of “Mwahhahah”… gargly because they have three noses that run constantly and four-foot throats.
MM I think they’d just need to do a survey on people’s TV watching habits in order to sort the sheep from the goats.
Meh.
Turns out its just another bit of US space junk that they shot into the air without bothering to check who it was going to land on.
Then again, a few pre-dawn joggers at Redcliffe and some cop on his roof at Ferny Hills chasing an errant cat probably deserve what’s coming to them, for being silly enough to be out before sun up on a nasty cold day.
Not that I have anything against early risers, being among their number, but this is what books and hot chocolate are for. And any cat with any sense will not be on the freaking roof when the possums come home. They will be on the end of your bed, purring and chewing Yeowies.
Actually the only reason mine are on the end of the bed is because they’re fascinated by the embroidered autumn leaves on the new dooner, they’re convinced it’s a crime against nature. And as cats come with a set of built-in Quik Unpiks, my dooner is in trouble.
Bastards.
I wonder if it was another failed attempt to shoot SJS back into space?
I always envisaged SJS as crawling out from somewhere more subterranean, Quokka. Somewhere dark and reeking of sulphur. Hoever, if someone wants to mount a campaign to fire her out past Pluto, I’d contribute.
Oooh… embroidered autumn leaves. Sounds fabulous. I gather the manchester shopping went well, then. Speaking of bedroom decor, I’m thinking about getting a wall sticker to jazz up the blank wall behind the head of my bed. What do you reckon – owls on a branch, tree of life or a spray of cherry blossom?
Is this a feng shui question or a personal preference?
I quite like owls but then again, I’ve seen way too many David Lynch movies.
I was visiting a friend once and there was a very large barn owl in his very large queenslander. He decided to seek out my spiritual wisdom and said ‘What do you think it means?’
I said ‘It means you left the windows open. And you probably have mice.’
Hmm… I hadn’t thought of the rodent scaring potential of the owl.
Speaking of rodents, I heard (I think it was on ABC local radio, so you probably heard it, too) that, wherever you are in Australia, you’re no more than 3m away from a rat.
*shudder*
Sometimes the proximity is even more intimate… like in the “comments” section of JB’s blog.
Which is why it pays to carry a meat cleaver when you enter those surrounds.