You may think this is one of those posts where I put up something rubbish in an attempt to get around to putting a post up and because I had nothing else more interesting to write which didn’t involve my cats arse.  Well…bang on.  Try to enjoy:

Just recently I have been spending some of my spare time reading the spam comments that get captured by the spam catcher thingie because I am so desperate for friends that anyone…even a spammer will do.  It is unlikely that you are wondering why I would be reading said spam because you have a life, but for those of you who seem to have as much time as I do to wonder about these things, it is because I learn a lot from reading them.  It is true.  In just one spam, I learnt:

• What are the symptoms of gas…well, you fart a lot.  I didn’t need spam to tell me that.  And to stop gas?  Cut out the beans stinko!
• How taking pills that make you walk around with a bulge in your trousers which is so impressive, that the only way to stop you splitting your trousers in two is to take some time out with your favourite person and…well…you do the math.  But, did you know it cures habitual snoring.  Of course it does!  If you live alone, you will be wide awake, bloodshot eyes wondering if the blood will ever return to your head!
• That sleep apnea has something to do with cardiovascular events…which I cannot explain as it makes as much sense to me as hammering my testicles to a cross and pretending I am Jesus
• That Orphenadrine does not produce myoneural block…which is a fancy way of saying “Mr Spammer had sex with a medical dictionary, and it didn’t call him back in the morning…because what the hell!
• That if you were to take a certain metabolism pill, the most frequent adverse experiences were dizziness, headache, fatigue and cough.  Does this guy just write any old crap?  Is it me sleep spamming…because the similarities in complete rubbish are scary!
• There was something about the F1 generation of rats.  Rats drive Formula 1 racing cars now??

I am not kidding.  The list goes on and on.  It covers kids vitamins, breast cancer, acoustic neuromas (???)…infact it contains 56489 characters.  I gained 2 IQ points and a free cuddly toy just by reading it and learning new words.  I also learned how not to catch hepatitis…because they never taught that at school.  Well, maybe they did, but as soon as they mentioned “making sweet love to the special girl of your dreams”, I went all coy and shut down being the shy nervous guy.

So I didn’t want you all to miss out.  It makes good reading…you know…if you cant sleep and the only other alternative in the universe is to watch reality tv.  If you pick the reality tv instead…shame on you.

You can get it here:  http://www.wheelturninghamsterdead.com/spam.txt (the text from the spam comment, not the reality tv.  You can get that from www.getareallifenumbnuts.org

You know…or don’t.  It is spam afterall!  Just don’t follow the links.  If you need something to make it bigger/longer/shorter/stop you snoring, go to a real doctor already.

I am having relationship trouble.

Things started off so well.  In the beginning there was a mutual love.  That love turned in to respect.  Then, over time, I am pretty sure things are turning more “alpha male” which is causing a little issue in the house.

No, my wife has not turned in to a man.  I am talking about one of the cats.  The boy cat.  The smart little shit who needs to have a think about changing his ways before I change my shoe size and turn him in to cream.

Just recently, he has decided that my pillow is the comfiest place to sleep.  Now, most cats curl up on the bed.  But he does it while I am laying on the pillow trying to sleep.  It generally ends up in my snorting cat hair all night and hoping he hasn’t wiped his arse as he had an itch.  That’s fine…you know, in a “He better not have rubbed his arse on my pillow” way.  Annoying but fine.  Well, until I get pink eye…and then there will be blood.

Except.

I woke up a couple of days ago to this horrendous noise.  It was about 2am and there was a noise like someone sucking on a gobstopper while drinking a can of coke and chewing on a steak.  It wasn’t pretty.

I turned around to see where the noise was coming from, and there is the boy.  Sat on my pillow right next to my head, legs wide open and licking himself.  And I don’t mean on the paws.  Right in my face was a cat’s penis and him vigorously…well…I dunno…cleaning himself or getting his dues for the yoga lessons he must have been taking recently?

I used the phrase “Get the eff of my pillow you little shit!” and employed a general throwing action that for a second made him think he could fly.  Normally a cat would then think “Whoops…” but he is stupid.  So he climbs straight back up, plonks himself down on my pillow and continues to pleasure himself.  I gave an encouraging “Please don’t!” in the form of a throw that made him think he was no longer a bird, but now a plane.  This seemed to to the trick.

For a couple of minutes. 

When he decided that now he had “finished”, he needed a cuddle.  I mean….he is a male right?  I know I had his joy department removed and all that, but he still has the twig even if the giggleberries are in a hazardous materials bin in some vet’s office.

He climbs back on the bed, wanders over to me and lays down beside me.  On his side.  About half way down my my body. 

I am now spooning with my cat.  And he is purring like mad in enjoyment.

It is more than likely that Littleous Gitteous was asleep all day as he decided that it wasn’t time to sleep.  So after a short spooning session in which I felt my naked body and his tail WAY too close to my body, he got up and decided that he would bug me a little more. 

He climbs on to my chest and turns around.  Sticking his arse right in my face, he starts to do that kneading thing they do.  Claws out and tearing my stomach apart.  Then, without warning, decides to bit me. 

Down there.

He spent the rest of the night outside in the cold “thinking” about the error of his ways.

In the most devastating news I have read since I heard that Pinky and Perky are infact siblings, and not lovers, it has been voted by women wordldwide that Englishmen are the second worst nationality in bed.  Yes, in the world, not just in the minds of the Welsh and Scots.

Second?  Really?  Yes, we are apparently lazy.  Just because we prefer it when you do it yourself and we watch the footie on the TV does not make us lazy.  I still don’t believe it though.  Everyone hates Englishmen, so I am sure it is a big online slur against me. 

Personally. 

Because I am that good. 

I know this because while in bed my wife once woke up and said “Oh God”.  Yeah maybe it was just the once.  And fine, so she said it in a voice that more resembled “Oh God.  I am soooo bored!”.  And yes, maybe she said those exact words, but you know…it’s a buyers market and I only bought the first two words.

And when I was younger, I often had girls telling me how I was like a grand slam winning racehorse in bed.  I always assumed that was a good thing and my prowess and physical stamina was second to none, but apparently it was because I always finished the race first and was long gone before she had even got started.

According to the worthless poll that makes me want to cry news article,

English lovers came second because they were too lazy, while men from Sweden were branded “too quick” and came third.

So….we are too lazy to even do it, while the Swedes are too quick and came third.

Hang on.  They came third?  I mean really…how many people were even in the bed!  Those crazy Swedes!  And if they were too quick, who were the other two in the bed who came first and second?  That makes absolutely no sense at…….oooohhhhhh…thiiirrd.  As in place.  OK.  With you.

Of course, let’s not forget the rest of you.  These included…

Other findings included that Dutch men were “too rough”, Americans were “too dominating” while Greek men were said to be a bit too soppy.

I am curious.  It doesn’t say, but what nationality were a little “too soft”?  So then.  You Americans are too dominating huh?!  Can any of my female readers confirm this?  Actually…you know, I honestly don’t care.  Or is it that I am too lazy to care?  hmmm…

And what about the Russians?  Well, according to the news article, they came tenth…

amid accusations they were too hairy for the average woman.

Too hairy?  I know a Russian or two.  I cant say that any look that “hairy”.  So in this poll, did we just find out by accident that Russian women prefer to have sex with bears instead of men?

But before you fellow Brits get all high and mighty on me…

The Scots are too loud and the Welsh are too selfish. 

How can you be too loud?  I mean, wouldn’t that be more distracting than loud?  Shouting out at the top of your voice “Yeah baby!  Wooo!  I said a….WOOOOO!!!!” really loudly is going to put anyone off really.

I should also let you know that German men came first.  This was because they smell.  Apparently.  Look, don’t have a go at me, it says so in the story which you can read HERE.

I read a news story that said an elderly man blew peppers in to women’s faces because he got off on women sneezing. 

Sneezing?  As a sexual turn on?  I guess it is something different, and if you hang around a Dr’s surgery, you will have an unlimited supply of material to feed the stoat with, and when you are red raw, you can even see a Dr. And if you are in the UK, seeing a Dr doesn’t cost anything, so it really is getting your kicks for free. 

But reading the story raised that little “Ding!” noise in my head though.  Since my wife turned down my advances to make an Internet site where she does naughty things to me, and I reap in the cash, buy myself a new bike and generally live with a big smile on my face, I have been looking for another niche to exploit which she might be willing to partake in without threatening to divorce me.

So I explained to her the need for Internet weirdos to watch a woman sneeze, and have now started recording video of her sneezing. 

I mean, what could go wrong?  So I set up the site.  It is available www.InternetWeirdosLikeSneezing.com/YouFreak/members…you know…if you are in to seeing my wife and some special guests sneezing suggestively at the camera with all the eroticism of watching yourself in the mirror as you go to the toilet.

The downside is that I am going through a headcold a week from the germs and am spending a fortune in cleaning wipes for my camera.  I have also been covered in some stuff that I don’t remember her eating, but that is because the pervs are asking for some close up action shots.  That is all well and good, but we had a special guest on the site.  Dirty Susan.  A woman who has a nasal cleanliness of an anteater on a diet of snorting cocaine and blue cheese.  Three days after I filmed her section lovingly titled “Suzies Sleazy Sneeze Section..z” for the site, I came down with a yeast infection. I didn’t even know men could get that.  Well, not from…you know what, don’t worry.

OK, so each to their own.

But then, I guess I have had it coming.  In the past, I have been known to maybe not give my wife what she wants (get your head out of the gutter).  One night before I went to work for the night, I promised to be a loving husband and make her breakfast when I got home in the morning.

I asked my wife how she would like her egg for breakfast and she replied “fertilized”.  So the next morning, I brought home some strawberry jam.

Another time she said “You know.  I really love you!” and I replied “Does that mean you are making dinner?”

And another she said “Can you pick me up from the train station at 6pm!” and walked out of the door.  I said “No!” once the door had closed.  In my defence, is it my fault if she didn’t wait around for an answer? 

Exactly.

It’s always the same. You are sitting with a girl.  She sits on your lap.  She wants to cuddle. 

You want to watch the TV.

She cries.  Becomes needy and attention demanding.

You give her attention, but you have one eye on the TV.  You waited all week to watch this, and NOW she gets all needy.  It’s like she knew you wanted to and is doing all she can to stop you.

Stroking her head, she finally falls asleep, and you get to watch the TV.  Bliss.  The silence.  Her head rests against you.  Sitting there still as not to wake her, you enjoy the show.

Hang on.

What’s that?

Ohhh…that doesn’t feel good.  Nope.  Oh…  Here it comes.

You jump up.  It wakes her up…but like you care at his moment.

Diving head first in to the toilet, your knees making a crater mark in the floor during touchdown while your stomach squashes itself together like a very angry man holding a very squishy plum.  You lose your lunch, dinner, breakfast and any snack that you ate in the last two weeks.

Actually, I had also just finished a large glass of blackcurrant juice, so it looked like a murder had taken place.  And I don’t mean one of those good murders.  Yeah, you know the ones.

My daughter, who was laying on me…and who I had caught the bug from…sits on the sofa crying.  Well, just for a second.  The rest of the time she was showering the room with what she had for lunch…breakfast…dinner…

Damn I hate being sick. 

That night, I spent every other hour, almost on the hour, with my hands clinging to the toilet seat.  Clinging as if my life depends on it until my knuckles are as white as the driven yellow snow?

Why do we do it?  Well, certainly us people with short hair.  Do we have a moment in our heads where we suddenly believe that the toilet…that stationary object…is going to get up and walk away from you mid barf?  That while making that noise which resembles someone choking a lobster with a toothpick, that the toilet will say “Hey…I take enough of your crap.  I don’t want your verbal diarrhea too…  That’s it.  I’m OUTTA HEEEERE!”?

And what is the mindset for the person with longer hair?  Hair that could take the hit if it isn’t held back?  It must be hell.  A no win situation during your moment of need.

“Do I cling to the toilet to stop it getting away?  Or do I hold back my hair and take the hit of throwing up on the floor when the toilet runs away midway through the second bout of intestinal relocation to the good china?”

Meanwhile, back in the other room, my daughter has finished her bout of babyfood removal and is happily sitting there playing with it, unmoved by the whole event.  Rubbing it all over the seat, she sits there watching my TV show.  I drag myself back up and crawl back to the front room.

So.  I better go clean that up then.

A British guy who may or may not be a little bit of a nutcase (why did he have to be a fellow Brit?  I mean holy hell!) is considering suing our largest supermarket chain because he was asked to leave for wearing a hood.

Oh, did I mention he is the “Jedi church leader of the International Church of Jediism”? 

Hang on.  What? 

Yes, Mr AllThere founded the Church and because he founded it, he has strict rules about what you can and cannot wear when you are a member of Team ChurchSuperAwesome.  For instance:

“You have a choice of wearing headwear in your home or at work but you have to wear a cover for your head when you are in public.”

Why doesn’t he say that you should also make disturbing noises while chomping on raw potato, too?  I mean headwear?  Don’t the Muslim community already have the headwear side of the market cornered? (I really don’t know…me and religion…well…we don’t get on).  But at least be original when you set up your own church.

On being interviewed by whatever journalist thought that this was newsworthy, he said:

“It was discrimination. They were making a joke against me. I was really upset. Nobody should be treated like that,” he moaned.  Like a big girl.

I hope he doesn’t sue this site now I may or may nothave mentioned that he is as mad as a guy who starts a church on Jediism.

Of course, if I remember rightly from the SCIENCE FICTION FILMSthat he seems to be basing his life around, weren’t the Jedi’s a little above suing people because they were wronged?  Or was it that they sued and then the naughty evil empire came along and decided to kill the lot, but the little green one got away, as did the old mad one and the kid who fancied his sister?

And just where is the location of this Churchof his?  In his Mum’s spare bedroom?  In the Treehouse in the back garden?  Is there a special handshake to get in, or do they just use the Force?  And what is the chance that I can get hold of the Jedi doctrination?  I am assuming he wrote it himself and it has pop up pictures.

I could honestly go on for ages, but sarcasm is the lowest (and only) form of humour I have, and I might end up being sued for making a joke against his religion, which is not based on someone who sat down and wrote a script at some point.  Hang on…isn’t that pretty much all religion?  No Sy…don’t go there.

But I will leave you with the reply from Tesco (for the non-Brits among us, they are the supermarket):

“Jedis are very welcome to shop in our stores although we would ask them to remove their hoods.”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, Yoda and Luke Skywalker all appeared hoodless without ever going over to the Dark Side and we are only aware of the Emperor as one who never removed his hood.”

Marvellous!!

The story of Mad Nutter McNutJob is here:  http://web.orange.co.uk/article/jedi_tesco_hood_ban if you are that guy.

The makers of Viagra (I can hear the filtering service for the people that receive this post by email working overtime) are working on a cream to replace the familiar little blue tablet.  Did I say familiar? And blue?  And little?  I mean “to replace what they use now. ” Is it a tablet?  I don’t know! Stop looking at me.

What next?  Headache tablets replaced by smashing a rock in to your foot to displace the pain?  Jamming a spoon in your eye to cure an itchy butt crack?  I mean think about it.  A guy…alone with the little general and the girl he wants to have sex with…and some cream.  And he has to rub cream on himself in order to get an erection.  Gee.  What genius came up with that idea. 

I would place money on the cream being a placebo.  And a bloody good one at that considering how much the tablets cost!  Which…erm…I guess is a lot?  I don’t know…I mean, when I paid for that prostitute the other week it cost me less than it does for my prescription.  Not that I could do anything about it.  I had forgotten to fill my prescription, let alone my pants.

You know, I feel I have already said too much.  And you are all so judgemental when it comes to stuff like this.  How would you feel if you couldn’t get an erection because when you were 12, you jammed the little guy in a draw because you felt dirty after taping all the naughty bits from late night TV and watching them back on the tape labelled “All Football…No Prawn” so your parents wouldn’t see it and know what you were doing.  Things weren’t the same after I slammed that draw shut in anger.  The people I work with think my nickname of “Limpy” is because I have a bad knee at the moment so walk a little weird.

But back to the news story, as I feel I digressed maybe a little too much there, and think if I don’t manage to win you back, no one is going to come back to a site written by a depraved Englishman who really needs to learn when to say less. 

So they have a cream.  This cream apparently works quicker than the tablet because:

“The response time to the nanoparticles was very short, just a few minutes, which is basically what people want in an erectile dysfunction medication.”In both rats and humans, it can take 30 minutes to one hour for oral erectile dysfunction medications to take effect.”

Does anyone else here wonder what a horny rat with an erection looks like?  And when they are examining said rat, is the rat thinking “What the hell did I take!  This human is the best sex I ever had!”?

And the tablets, unlike the cream can be dangerous because:

In addition, men with severe heart problems, or who have just suffered a stroke, are advised to avoid the tablets altogether or use them with extreme caution.

So if a guy has just had a stroke…why the hell is he going to be needing to take a tablet?  Oh is his recovery time just reeeeeally bad? 

Now the bad news for those of you thinking “eh up…this is something I could use!” is… It would take well over 10 years for it to be available.  They have lots of testing to do.  But the good news is that (and I haven’t tried this, it just makes sense. *ahem*) there is already stuff on the market you can use.  It is called Johnsons baby oil.  Get that out, smear it all over the little guy, or get the lady to do it for you…and well, you do the math.  Exactly.

For those of you who are interested…for whatever reason you may have for knowing http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/health/8263307.stm

There I was, minding my own business.  Reading a news site I like to read (it has pictures!) and then…screaming at me from the page…was the most pointless news story in the world.  Filler if you will. 

“We have to use up this column…what can we put there?  There is no real news…anyone got anything?” would have been the calls around the room.  And then someone, I am guessing for a laugh, said “Hey, I got something!” and they printed it. 

I checked the date.  It’s not April Fools. 

I even checked alternative calendars. 

It’s not April Fools as per the Alpo Balognia Calendar A.  Nor by the Enoch Calendar.  Well, at least I don’t think so.  One of them was a calendar of dodgy sexual positions enacted by sphynx cats…so I wasnt too sure when April Fools would be.  Surely having a cat with no hair at all would be pretty much an April fools??

So will someone please explain to me, just how did anyone think that the news story with the devastating headline of “Women can’t keep secrets – Study” was a viable news story?

Woman can’t keep secrets?  And they felt the need to do a study of…get this…3000 women!  Why 3000?  Why not a single woman and a packet of jelly babies?  And you could have a conversation with the single woman and only the male jelly babies.

It’s pretty simple.  The conversation to the woman would be:

Man:  Hey, look, please don’t tell ANYONE..you promise?

Woman:  Oh of course honey!  I wont tell a soul!  What is it?

Man:  1 + 1 = 2!!!

Woman:  Nooooo!!!!!  Really????  I wont tell a soul!  I promise! (and she would then gleefully giggle while clapping her hands together in a really short girlie way) 

Man leaves the room and 8 seconds later, a woman with palms now so sweaty, she could fill in for a 13 year old boy who recently discovered what “that” is for, and is finally alone in the room does the following:

She picks up phone and sends a text message to her entire phonebook, including the man who just told her.

The conversation to the Jelly Babies would be:

Man:  Dude…I have a secret.

Jelly Baby:  I am a sugary sweet.  Bugger off!!

I mean really.  I am sure that there are plenty of women who can keep a secret.  OK, so that secret is “I didn’t tell anyone!” whereas they actually told every single person they know, but why do people waste their time on these “studies”?

In the news story is this quote:

“No matter how precious the piece of information, it’s often out in the public domain within 48 hours. That means every single Brit who has confided in a friend should be worried because they don’t know where their secret is heading.”

Well, if that is the case, I should probably just lay my cards on the table now.  It saves ex girlfriends, ex wife, current wife and anyone else I missed from spilling the beans.

• I am great in bed.  It’s true!  I slept through a hurricane destroying part of the house when I was a kid, and I am still as legendary in bed now.  Once I am asleep, I am a sleep GOD!
• I am highly intelligent.  No lie.  My daughter is having trouble putting the square brick in the square hole.  Not me.  I am there like a polar bear.  First time.  Every time.

So there you have it. Journalism gone completely fricken insane.  Here is the link to the news story.  You know, just in case you feel the need to be so amazed.  Careful though, I don’t want you to split your underwear.  http://web.orange.co.uk/article/women_cant_keep_secrets

In the last couple of weeks, my daughter has taken the big move from crawling to walking.  Another way of saying that, is saying watching her “walk” bares a similar resemblance to watching ET in the slow moving queue for the toilet.  And he just had a big dose of MSG.  And he is MSG intolerant.  Actually, she talks about as much as ET does too.  And it sure as hell isn’t English. 

Her walk is more of a waddle done by a zombie in those films that make me cry and not sleep at night because I am a big girl.  This, along with the loud screaming noise she seems to make while walking, makes for entertaining, if not ear damaging fun.

Her walking has the fluid motion of a dog that has one of those big dish neck braces on and is trying to work out where his nuts have gone.  They were there when he went to sleep, and yet he woke up, he now has an inverted umbrella on his neck and he has that realisation that somethings missing.  He is all over the place hunting for the lost souls.  The fallen comrades.  He will now constantly try to lick mine because he has some spare time on his hands from where he used to while away the hours cleaning his own until they were worthy of putting in a display cabinet.  If that isn’t bad enough, it’s not even my dog!

But for my daughter, it’s like she has no knees.  Her legs don’t bend at all and she falls on her arse every few steps.  So basically, she is me.  But female.  And 33 years younger.  And she manages it without the need for being caught short with a queue for that toilet and realising that very soon, there could be a fluid motion of my own…and I don’t mean the walking kind.

So life really is an ever decreasing circle.  It starts with the inability to walk, and then you can do it fine.  Then you get to your late teenage years and get so drunk that you cant walk anymore, and then you grow up again and stop the excessive nightly drinking.  And then several years later you find out you are intolerant to pretty much everything and start to do that bottom grabbing hopping “DONT BEND YOUR LEGS WALKING UP THE STAIRS!” thing on your way to the toilet.  And then you get over your intolerances by not having them, and are fine again.  And then you get old.  You cant walk, you fowl yourself and require someone younger to look after you while rambling in a way that makes absolutely no sense at all.  Well, to everyone else it doesn’t, but to the grandchild sitting in the room it makes complete sense, and they fill their nappies together.

About 37 days ago, I came up with this awesome idea to give myself 8 weeks to go from super sloth to get fit enough to run 10K in well under 50 minutes.    A feat that to the average runner is almost the bread and butter running.  To me, someone who hasn’t run for years…it’s now 18 days away and I have this phrase that keeps going around in my head.  It goes “What the hell are you doing you idiot!”.

Honestly…I know it is for charity (it’s not too late to sponsor me you know!  The money goes straight to the charity website, not to me…you know…just in case you dont think I am trustworthy) but holy hell I hurt! 

I have these stupid moments of “inspiration” in my life quite often.  They are full of these awesome ideas.  Past failures have included:

The “I should grow my hair long!” idea.  Within 8 weeks, I looked like a shaggy dog, I smelt of I don’t know what…yeah OK, washing it might have helped…and got a verbal warning at work because I was suddenly the amorous attention of the police dogs who should have been sniffing for bombs.  Instead, I generally lived with one humping my leg and the other ferociously sniffing my crotch.

or…

The “I should decorate the house!  All of it!” idea.  I didn’t like the look of the house before.  Now I spend as much time out of it as I can.  Don’t turn on the kettle whatever you do.  That will tip the balance of power from keeping it together to burning the whole house down.  The wood flooring is damaged from the spurs on my cowboy boots.  There is also paint EVERYWHERE.  Even the walls and rooms I didn’t paint somehow have paint splashes in them. 

So with just those two examples in my mind, just what part of me thought that Mr Fat Dude could train hard enough to A) Lose the weight I need to be able to stop the earth shaking and B) Actually run without changing the center of gravity of the earth?

Exactly.

But nope, I went and did it.  I paid £18 and signed up, people have sponsored me (did I mention you still can?  Email me! It’s for cancer research.  They have gone through the pain, I am going through the pain of training…lets put a little pain on your wallet!) and I have been training 6 days a week for the last 5 weeks.

So what I want to know is this…  Why do fit people do this?  WHY!? I have aches in places that I don’t even have muscles.  My knee is the size of a large onion (I mean one of those that you see in the newspaper next to the proud farmer who fed it steroids for a few months and is now the size of my ego) and being an onion, it is making my eyes water. 

I have young idiots in cars driving past beeping the horn on their silly little cars that they think they look good in and then they shout out “fnaar gniihf thrroooff”.  Granted, that is just about the level of their intellect, so I cant really expect them to string a load of words together that make sense. 

So to try to get fit, or to stay fit, you have to hurt physically, deal with retards in cars and on the street and spray Deep Freeze spray WAY too close to the little guy.  I honestly think I froze my left testicle the other day.  He went numb for a good while…not that I was constantly playing with him to find out or anything, but he stopped responding when I was talking to him.  I considered spraying deep heat on to see if I could defrost the little guy, but realised I was on a hiding to nothing with even thinking the idea.

So if any of you two people left that actually read this little corner of the Internet (the last post got an astounding zero comments.  I am one of the readers…who are you other reader?!) are one of those fitness types, email me.  Lets talk.  I need to call you names and get you to talk me out of any further training.