Team Building

Today is team building day.
The London and Cambridge offices are heading to Norwich where we'll be spending the day … er … team building.
Hence the photo of … well … a team, building. These merry village people are busy turning an old wartime airfield into the National Construction College and I go out there and shout at them a lot.

But back to today.
First up, we're taking the London and Cambridge people on a visit to Phil's Magical Kingdom, where they can ooh and aah at pretty cars (we're rebuilding the factory for them).
Then, after lunch, I've been volunteered (older blogpals will know why) to be the tour guide and show them all around the Cathedral. On the way I'll be teaching them Old Dive's Alternative History of Norwich, which many of you know so well. Then we're having a barbie on the big terrace overlooking the river. Yay!

If I survive without being fired I'll let you know how it all goes.

Happy Friday, peeps!

Gross Out Thursday

Hokay, so I know it's not Monday and this really should be a WTF Monday post, but Speedway just posted what passes for ramen in her part of the world and it shocked me to the core.

Ramen is freshly made noodles - hot in the winter; chilled buckwheat in the summer - with fresh ingredients and it is a wonderful experience to sit in a Soho noodle bar and suck it up in as slurpily noisy and shirt-stainingly messy a manner as possible.  Ramen is not shrink-wrapped plastic condoms stuffed with dried industrial noodles and a sachet of salt, MSG and powdered crap.

Really. Trust me on this.

I'm used to fresh seafood, fresh noodles, cotton tofu made that very morning and sushi made for me by a real sushi chef where I get to pick out the wriggly tentacles and stuff I like from the fresh fish counter. The thrill of heating dried, factory-made crap and water in a microwave is not for me.

But then I thought of all the equally disgusting things people eat over here and so here - for the amusement of the Colonials - is a "Great British Classic" … something totally gross that I found on my last trip to a supermarket and which had me gaping like Cletus the slack-jawed yokel.

I had to ask the nearest shelf-stacker if it was real or some kind of spoof, but he assured me people buy it and in all possibility actually spread it on bread and EAT this shit.

I don't often say this, but "What the fuck?"

More Government Cuts

Webster Goes Bust

"Boobleage."

"Boobelage."

"Boobage."

My last photopost - concerning the innocent pastime of gift wrapping - brought in its wake three contrasting spellings of a word I had not previously encountered.
There it is, up at the top of the post.

All of the relevant comments came from the flower of American womanhood and made me wonder if American women think about boobs as much as English men do.

We on the civilised side of the Pond use "cleavage" for the amount of boob on display, but I must confess a sneaking admiration for this Colonial neologism, particularly that "L" in the middle that hints at the word "wobble."

Strangely, my spellchecker (regrettably based on Webster's gibberish rather than the English language as she is spoke) only picks up the middle one as a misspelling.

So, laydees … tell me more about boobs.

WTF Monday on a Sunday - Giftwrapping Aptitude Test

Body parts, underwear and chains: three things that are always nicer to receive giftwrapped.

Headache

One of these years I'll actually take a look at the plinth when I walk past this guy and discover who he really was.

Occasionally seen with a traffic cone, football or other random object in his outstretched hand I've always known him as "guy with headache."

Knits

Faience

It was sunny for about an hour on Saturday morning.

Suddenly the city was no longer the dull, grey miasma of bruised misery it's been all year.

The clouds soon returned, though.

Sigh …

Ducks

"Quack"

Howdy

Don't ask, because I really don't know.