Blood pressure monitor = Machine of Horror

Some things in life are not scary at all. Things like carpets, pencils and golden syrup. Then there are things that are most definitely scary. Things like heights, spiders and Big Bird from Sesame Street.

And then there are things that don’t appear to be very scary at first, but on closer inspection are absolutely terrifying. In this category we have skiing, vindaloo and Boris Johnson. Plus one other that I’ve only recently discovered.

Blood pressure monitors.

I should clarify that not all blood pressure monitors are terrifying; that would be a huge injustice to the whole blood pressure family, particularly to those that inhabit hospitals, surgeries and health centres the world over. My accusation is pointing firmly at the self-administered types of machine that can easily be purchased and used at home. Particularly by medically squeamish people (wimps) like me.

To be blunt, they are pant-wettingly horrific to the point of vomiting.

Chuffing toot! – it’s Warley 2018

I’ve just returned from a model railway exhibition. Up until now, I’d never attended one before. Mainly because I didn’t really know that model railway exhibitions existed until recently. I knew that model railways existed, just not the exhibitions.

Model railways, in my head, was the hobby taken up by nice older gentlemen called Malcolm who lovingly pour great amounts of their time into creating and tinkering with railway layouts in the privacy of their own sheds and attics, on the pretence of “building something for the grandchildren to enjoy”. Which, as we all know, is just a massive excuse to play with miniature trains all day long. And perhaps, on the odd occasion, when no one is listening, make chuffing and tooting noises when the locos start running.

However, after attending a model railway exhibition, I can confirm that model railways is indeed a hobby largely taken up by nice older gentlemen called Malcolm who lovingly create and tinker with their railway layouts in their own sheds and attics, but without the need for any pretence whatsoever. They also do not need any excuse to make chuffing and tooting noises, and will gladly make chuffing and tooting noises in front of anybody and everybody.

And do you know what? I’m so glad that they do, as I have discovered that model railways is a fantastic interest to pursue, and should be celebrated as a worthwhile activity. It brings joy and entertainment to the creators, the users and the viewers, and that is certainly not a bad thing.

Wooden you know it, I’m 828 years old you know. And I’m still living in Chepstow.

Imagine if you were to suddenly discover that you were older than you actually are. Not by a few years, but tens of years.

There you’d be at a grand old age of 20, busying yourself with posting every facet of your life on SnapGramTwitFace five hundred times a day, taking inspiration from scarecrows by wearing jeans with multiple holes ripped in them, and eating so many takeaways that Greece would feel compelled to open an embassy in your arteries.

But then one day you learn that you’re actually 75, and immediately take a keen interest in corduroy, driving slowly and getting in everyone’s way in supermarkets and garden centres at the weekend when you could easily have visited midweek instead.

Ageing that quickly would be a little disconcerting to say the least, but it couldn’t possibly happen. Unless you’re a wooden door of course. In which case, it’s perfectly possible to have your age debated on a fairly regular basis, because nobody really knows for sure when you were made.

A blog about not blogging? Is that even possible?

A friend of mine recently complained that I hadn’t posted anything on my blog for ages. This was quite a surprise, as I thought that most people would probably be pleased with my lack of activity.

Quite frankly, there can’t be that many people who are comfortable with the idea of me wasting valuable internet space with my waffle instead of somebody else using it intelligently with thought provoking articles into the workings of the human mind or perhaps broadening humanity with photographs of cats in boxes.

In response to my friend’s complaint, I rather rashly suggested that I should write a blog piece about not writing a blog piece. Unfortunately, this idea seemed to go down quite well, and I was challenged to do just that – blog about not blogging.

Only ice cream can bring about world peace

After recently saving the Church of England from declining into oblivion with an ingenious idea involving clergy and stickers, I thought I might try to solve an even greater problem than increasing Anglican attendances. The challenge I have set myself is to deal with an issue that most people would file in the ‘impossible’ category. The conundrum is this:

How to instigate world peace.

It’s a tough one, I’ll admit. But it’s nothing a bit of contemplation and deliberation can’t solve. And after thinking about it for almost a few minutes, I have come up with another magnificent solution. It is this:

Ice cream.

Yes, that’s right, the tasty and flavoursome chilled dessert. My answer to bringing harmony to every village, town, city and country of the world relies exclusively on ice cream.

The New Day: it’s called a newspaper – so, where’s the news?

Earlier on this week, a new ‘standalone’ national newspaper was launched, the first, it is claimed, in thirty years. The title is called ‘The New Day’, and despite the fact that it sounds like a religious group’s newsletter, its aim is to attract people who have stopped buying newspapers by giving a brief rundown of the day’s news in an easily and quickly digestible format.

Exactly like the i newspaper then.

However, having bought the second issue of the paper, published on 1st March, I can confirm that it is unlike anything else on the market. It’s even completely different to the i, because whereas the i contains news, The New Day doesn’t.

Sticky Bishops: the only way to save the Church of England

Recently, the BBC published a survey stating that almost two-thirds of those running England’s Anglican cathedrals are concerned about their finances. This follows hot on the heels of the Church of England publishing their attendance statistics for 2014, where it is revealed that the number of people attending Church of England services each week has dropped below 1 million for the first time ever.

Amongst many other not-so-quotable statements about the decline in attendees, the Bishop of Norwich, the Rt. Revd. Graham James, commented: “We lose approximately 1% of our churchgoers to death each year”.

Although this is very sad news, there must surely be a link between the two stories; a decrease in attendance and a concern of finances. But what can be done, apart from congregations trying their hardest not to die?

After pondering this conundrum for a while, I think I’ve come up with an almost infallible solution that will guarantee larger congregations and also generate a bit of extra cash as well. And my idea, unusually for me, began with a bishop.

A seasonal challenge: can you find ‘The Worst Christmas Song Ever Written’?

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s almost-nearly Christmas.

Here in the UK, it’s been nearly Christmas since the start of October. This is because the shops like to think that the public will buy more stuff when it’s on sale for longer. They are wrong to think this, and it is annoying. But because it’s currently mid-December, it no longer means that it’s nearly Christmas – it is now officially almost-nearly Christmas.

And now it’s almost-nearly Christmas, seasonal tunes are being played on the radio. And then played again. And again. And a few more times until Radio 4 becomes an almost-nearly viable alternative.

An accidental discovery

Have you ever used Google’s voice recognition for a search instead of typing out what you want to find?

Until this morning, I hadn’t. But now I have, and I can report that I’m very impressed with its accuracy. I was left speechless with admiration due to its ability to have transferred all of my spoken words into text which was then displayed on the screen – and displayed exactly as I had uttered them.