marramgrass

Over the weekend we emptied out the bottle that sits by my bed, where I dump the change out of my pockets each night:

That makes a whole seventy quid. And you know what that’ll be? Leopard.

We went to see Stardust over the weekend.

Even though I greatly enjoy Neil Gaiman, it’s a book of his that I’ve never read. I think I might have to.

The film is great fun. I’ve read reviews comparing it to The Princess Bride, and there are certain similarities in feel, but the main thing is that it’s a proper fairy tale. ‘Proper’ because fairy tales are something that Gaiman understands, and that translates well into the film.

Think of a fairy tale you heard when you were young. They can be quite gruesome, can’t they? It’s the casual violence and suffering (even when they’re played for cartoony laughs) that give the ‘happy ever after’ its power and weight.

Go see Stardust.

A charity I’ll not name was out in force in Belfast today. Their strategy appeared to consist of employing attractive, flirtatious young ladies as fundraisers.

It may be a good approach.

One in particular made it difficult for me to get away from her. Persistent, yet nicely so, the second time she asked me my name, I told her. I knew straight away that I’d made a tactical error, and it took me a good couple of minutes to extricate myself.

Aside from my total unwillingness to hand over the necessary details for a direct debit on the street, there are two good reasons her efforts were doomed to failure:

1. I’m very happily married.
2. She was obviously only after my money.

How many ways do you know to dry your hands?

Out last weekend for a family meal, we found a new one: the Dyson Airblade. It’s like all those hot air blower-things you get in pub and restaurant toilets everywhere, only it’s not.

Rather than the normal ‘blast of hot air and your hands will get themselves dry’, the Airblade gets all scientific. Kinda. You put your soggy mitts in the two obvious looking spaces, then pull them out s-l-o-w-l-y — there’s a helpful little diagram on the top to keep you right. The blower goes hard, and very loud, but isn’t as brute-force as the norm. Instead, as you withdraw your hands, the water gets pushed down your fingers and off your fingertips by the precision ‘blade’ of air.

Or something like that.

Maybe not a revelation, but last weekend each of our party of fourteen had to visit the loos to see this marvellous spectacle.

See, it’s not just me :)

:p

(Photo courtesy my brother-in-law, Matt - the only one with the nerve to photograph in the gents’ toilet!)