Self-Protection on a Cycle
An article from Pearsons 1901 about how to protect yourself on a cycle. From highwaymen.
but what's with the duck?
On Thursday, 17 February 2011 at 3:05 PM, Susie Burgess wrote:
> What I would like to know is the meaning re the duck?!!
Actually I've hijacked a moment in time from James's life with that. I was only watching :)
When we lived in Paparimu, we got some young goslings, and James may have chased them around the yard.
Then they grew up into geese. And they remembered.
the rounding chair
the boys like to whirl each other on the rounding chair
sometimes they talk me into helping too
Not fazed about misuse of phased
Intervention! HadTried to stop a team of colleagues emailing "a few" people about how cool it was that San Suu Kyi was "not phased" about her 15 years in jail.
Phased:
Not fazed:
(That creepy green guy in the background is in for a surprise, though.)
luck (is a matter of timing sometimes)
a bus, two cars and a bicycle meet at an intersection.
via @pipes
When is it daylight?
The story is told of a rabbi whose disciples were debating the question of when precisely “daylight” commenced.
One proposed:
“It is when one can see the difference between a sheep and a goat at a distance.”
Another suggested:
“It is when you can see the difference between a fig tree and an olive tree at a distance.”
And so it went on. When they eventually asked the rabbi for his view, he said:
Plot Summary of "This is Not My Life"
Plot summary of “This is Not My Life”, future drama on TV1.
My major concern about living in such a future is that you cannot slam an automatic door.
Desparately seeking: Milk Rap
When I was a little lad ... there was a cartoon ad on the telly, the Milk Rap. It had all the different types of milk bottles breaking / bopping and rapping about their flavours. My favourite was the cream bottle who did a mean backspin.
Now I'm having trouble finding any evidence that the ad ever existed! No Youtube clips. No-one I've asked remembers it. I can't find it in our cultural archives.
Monkey business
Years and years and years ago, a pal of mine wrote this poem, and he stuck a few words about me at the start of it.
He'd get up in pubs and recite it with a wicked sparkle in his eye and I'd pretend he wasn't talking about me and he'd pretend he didn't know I hated it and it would be over and I'd silently hope I never heard it again.
Then a few years later his band turned it into a song and so every time I went to see the band play we'd have the same thing and mostly I'd make excuses or try to miss that part of the set. It was all a big game.
