Reducion ad very absurdam

Been making up for lost time today, but who am I to neglect my readers. More explanation of how I got accused of sexism due to overly subtle use of rhetoric.

Cliff Fan was on a bit of a rant to her colleagues. She does that a lot. I was using my

"Well, you see, women can hold a lot of facts in their minds at once. That's the difference...."

"...men just don't have the brains for it..."

"...men are a bit slow when it comes to that. Brains in their trousers, you see..."

Finally I chipped in. "And it's not sexist to say that, is it____? You're just telling it like it is."

"Thankyou, a man who admits men can handle facts."

"And women can manage all the facts just fine. Until they get distracted by a nice pair of shoes."

Cliff Fan's manager chimed in. "Oi _____. We don't do sexist talk in the office."

"Exactly", I said.

I thought they'd got my point. Apparently not.

Out there

Well, this could be a nice night out. And it's so close to the station I can put some serious distance between me and them if necessary. I'm not so sure about the photos though.

http://www.xdate.co.uk/

Bank account taking a serious battering today. Must be pay day.

An Incredible Journey

It was looking like the best blogging opportunity for a long time. One amazing journey for one ordinary mouse. But Disney would certainly have written a happier ending.

I'd given the mice a bit of a tough love choice. Feed yourselves using the humane trap, or the particularly lethal neck-breaking trap. Either way, eat in my room and your life will change dramatically. And at 3am I discovered it had worked.

Last time I cleverly diguised my mouse carrier as a bag of shopping, and set off to release it in leafy Borehamwood. I re-enacted the journey, resolving to photograph it on every stage of the trip, culminating in the dramatic release video. Maybe sarcastically dubbed with the soundtrack of Born Free. I was musing on how I'd present this as I was observed by two drunk men photographing my cargo on the 460 bus at 8.20am.

"Why's he taking a picture? It's a bag of shopping?" A faint scratching sound threatened to give me away, and I smiled smugly.

I put my passenger down on the seat next to me and took the fast train to Borehamwood. It was a lot less scary than the first time. I carried it gently down to the high street, headed to the cemetary, and got the camera ready to capture the release spot.

Under the tree looked ideal. It had shade, shelter, plenty of leaves to eat, and half a decomposing mouse. It looked oddly like the one I'd released two weeks ago. My enthusiasm for the blogging project evaporated, and I felt a strange feeling in my stomach. I put the phone away, put on my mouse-handling gloves, and moved to a slightly different spot.

As it ran off, it looked at its comrade, and shot me a look before disappearing at high speed. I don't have the guts to go back to see if there's now two dead mice.

I'm wondering if it would be more moral to drown the next one.

Recruitment!

There's a very good looking woman in my room, making smalltalk and giving me some approving glances. And I'm trying to bring up the subject of mice as gently as possible this time.

Meg and Mog are on their way out of Meteor Street in three weeks, and somehow the idea of going to Kentish Town just doesn't appeal to me so I'm staying put. So having persuading my old buddy Smooth B to relocate, there's the small matter of who's going to occupy the spare room and pay a third of the rent. And within 4 days of putting an advert on a popular website, 6 out of 7 respondents have been female and quite attractive. And because all of them have been extremely local, I can be in the pub, cooking dinner or wasting money on ebay when I get the call.

Smooth B and I have agreed. No-one too attractive (too much of a distraction), no-one unemployed and no-one clinically obese. We will be cooking together after all. So maybe the advert should read "Flatmate wanted, male or female, 20-35, must be reasonably easy on the eye."

I think I've got the tour down to a tee. There's one small detail I can't get right though:

"...and council tax is about 30 a month. Have you got any other questions."

"When did you last see a mouse? I'm still thinking about that."

Maybe I could lie, but that seems like a surefire way of getting off on the wrong foot. I've got another two viewings tomorrow, so hopefully I'll meet my goal of sorting it all out by Saturday. But those mice have a lot to answer for.

Crunch!

I feel like i've learnt some important lessons in the past 2 days. Mice are not indestructable. Never use reducio ad absurdam on someone unfamiliar with the concept or people might think you're a sexist. And finally, never ask out your hairdresser. You might end up with suprisingly crunchy hair.

I'm heading away from my flat this afternoon after my neighbour started a commendable but noisy project to sand down the floors in the hallway. In serious need of a haircut i went to see hot hairdresser, who very deftly palmed me off on her colleague. Although hot hairdresser is chatty, attractive and good at her job, her colleague is none of those things. After a painful silence i left the shop with more hair down the back of my shirt than on my head and enough gel to keep kraftwerk in business for a very long time.

On the bright side, my face is looking a little more alive than last night. Another early night and i might just feel it.

Fix me

I'm lying in bed watching bad television at 10:30 on a friday night. Although london's out there partying, it's time to turn out the lights here in meteor street. I need me back.

It's partly the hot weather, air conditioning and the joy of working for social services thats done it, but i'm feeling a bit out of it. And there's some lines on my face that makes me think of Tony Blair. It's been a bit of a draining week, and it's been made a bit worse by the mice running round my room in the small hours. Whoever invented the phrase quiet as a mouse hasn't spent the night in my flat. They're especially noisy when they're trapped and eating poison.

The little sods are definitely on their way out, but i don't completely feel like myself, and it's going to be at least saturday night before i clear my laundry pile and my professional conscience. So for the rest of the time the plan is to do exactly what i feel like. Which tonight involves lying here until at least lunchtime.

I like the sound of this one. Then i'll fix everyone else.

Got the bastard tom!

Whoever first used the phrase "quiet as a mouse" had obviously never trapped one in his room. At 3am.

Yep, after months of the mice uncontrollably running round my flat, it's finally in the bag. One of my humane mousetraps worked and rather than drowning or throwing it under a dustcart, i'm taking an opportunity to be the bigger mammal and am taking him to borehamwood,

Assuming we both survive the journey, i'm releasing him to start a new life at an undisclosed location.

Suffice to say, he's had his chips... �&��_�穆�h��+j��*.��R���ʋ���bu����l~��DA0��Xj(>-��m����Ja��,ɨh��&

Before I go out of my mind

if you smoke you're a joke. If you smoke you choke!

Excellent interview here with my old mate 'Terry". I never thought I'd get to read an interview with the man.

I'm not so sure about his meeting the Queen. He's spot on about cigarettes though.

And admittedly his name's Phil but it's certainly amazing how long they called him Terry for.