A shiny tuppence for everyone?

You know something I don't get?

Well, yes, you're right obviously, I'm still not sure that I completely understand how aeroplanes work, or why so few ocean-going liners capsize and are lost with all hands (I was going to put a link to that post too, right up until the point where I realised that I hadn't written it yet)

What I'm currently having trouble 'getting' is... The whole... area of... Ladies intimate topiary...

Now, I'm a child of the sixties, and started my long appreciation of the female form, specifically the female form as displayed in various gentlemen's art pamphlets, such as you may or may not find in the bins behind the newsagents after they had closed on a Thursday evening, during the late 70s and early 80s.

The ladies of the time were, how should I put it? The best word would be 'hirsute' perhaps? Their lady-gardens were guarded by an impenetrable (There's a poor choice of words I suppose, when you think about it.) thicket of tortile fluff that, to my untrained eye, looked as if it would repel all boarders, nautical, piratical or otherwise. (Yes, I appreciate that there's an obvious 'Seaman' joke in there - Feel free to make it yourself - For added pre-pubescent jocularity, may I suggest the addition of the word 'salty' to increase the general mirth quotient.)

But, over the last thirty years or so, the 'acreage' of the female frontal bottom area that is thus covered has slowly reduced, up to the point about ten years ago, when it became fashionable for it to be virtually non-existent. (or so I understand. I myself have been happily married for approximately 15 years, so I am no longer exposed to the frenetic variety of mimsy 'in the wild' that I once was.)

I vowed to find out what was happening and why.  Donning my favourite gaberdine raincoat and picking up one of the microphones that we normally use for playing SingStar (TM) I strode out into the wide world with a badly prepared handful of diagrams - Drawn on little cards for extra authenticity.

Did you know that it only takes two or three resounding slaps around the face to make your cheek feel really sore?

Also, it seems that young ladies find being asked the question, 'Would you mind pointing at the card that contains the feverish Sharpy drawing that most closely resembles your secret special place?' upsetting and impertinent in equal measure. One young lady did in fact examine the cards and go to the trouble of pointing one out.  Unfortunately, as the card in question was a postcard featuring the head of a Bison that I had accidentally picked up in error, I had to abandon that particular test.

I retired to the Internet... Which, as it turns out, is the go-to place if you wish to compare the sleekness of a selection of muliebrital beetle-bonnets and found that there are almost as many reasons to cut-back the grass on the Mound of Venus as there are coiffured leaves on any bush that you care to mention.  It seems a lot of people decide that their choice of beachwear can have an impact on their ventral tonsure... variation in gusset-width and translucency when wet for instance.  Others opine that it is 'Cleaner' and 'Lower Maintenance' when in fact, it seems that many specialists (people who specialise in looking at moustachio'd pudenda - Not just casual hobbyists such as myself) believe that this is not the case, shaving can give you all kinds of icky infections and pustular complaints... Ewww pustules... Doesn't bear thinking about does it?

Then of course there's the sticky situation that you get yourself into when you start taking puberty into account.  Traditionally, that's when the stuff in question appears, usually sometime in the early to mid teens.  It signifies the translation from childhood to (biological at least) adulthood.  So you'd have to question the motive of someone who was trying to turn back that particular clock wouldn't you?  No wonder DJs in the olden-days sometimes got confused.

It's also thought by many that it acts as a kind of 'sponge' that holds pheromones that are produced... Erm... locally... And people who get rid of it are making themselves less attractive to people with a half-decent sense of smell - But, I think that could go either way really, depending on the weather.

The thing that I really don't get is that it seems that the popularity of hair 'down there' for ladies is reducing at about the same rate as the popularity of luxuriant beards for men is increasing.

Oh...

Wait...

I think I might have got it...

Easing myself in gently

Right then, my first Post in two weeks...

I'm going to jump back into it with both feet and an easy hit.  The state of the Dandy Nation for the first bit of 2014.

Hmm... Dandy Nation, the more I say that, the more I like it - Maybe there could be a T-Shirt line in there somewhere... A bit like (or, you might say stolen from) the 1972 David Pelham cover for 'A Clockwork Orange'

Like this:

Feel free to steal this image and post it every-flipping-where

Hasn't this year just flown past? it only seems like seconds seconds that I was was telling the younger members of the Dandy family things like 'No, I'm sorry, we've run out of that size of battery.' and 'Well, if the dog's eaten your Pokemon then you're going to have to wait until it evolves its way out.'

But we're in February already, beset by floods and snow and sinkholes and we're rushing headlong towards Easter and the chocolate coma that we could so easily all drop into, having not fully recovered from eating that entire tin of Roses or Quality Street to ourselves on Boxing Day.

Here we go:

Since the 1st of January, the Blog has had 2,757 views, which is a little down on average, but I guess that I've not posted anything in February at all.  This takes our total pageviews, as of today, the 12th February 2014, to 29,048

(Oh yeah, whilst I remember, a pet peeve of mine... The name of this month is pronounced 'Feh-Brew-Ehry' not 'Feb-You-Ehry'.  And also, You know the sticky black sweet, liquorice? that's pronounced 'Lick-O-Ris' not 'Lick-Er-Rish', just so as you know.)

It's been another world-wide month, with our popularity rising again in Russia.  We seem to be getting popular in The Ukraine now too, in fact after the UK, USA and Russia, they're our number 4 most populace readers, then comes Australia, Canada & Germany, followed by Brazil, France and the plucky little Isle of Man.  We're also starting to get hits from Denmark, Kenya and Hong Kong, which is nice.

-oOo-

The 'Things people have searched for on Google and found the Blog' list has a couple of surprises.  Apart from the normal 'thechimpingdandy.blogspot.com' type things, there's been a distinct upsurge of queries involving some of the following words 'Gunzmore, shooting, 14, stepfather, Facebook, rape and virus.' Which, for those who haven't read the post, will be explained later. 'Dzit Dit Gaii translation' is also enjoying a resurgence.  But our newest Google query (In that it's one I've not seen before) is: 'british masturbation blogs/ dandy' - Your guess is as good as mine...

-oOo-

And here's the current Top-Ten chart of Blog posts:

10: You like it when I do what? - This is a 'State of the Dandy Nation' post from October 2013.  Which, as well as detailing the top ten posts, also ruthlessly pimps my last book - Which you can buy from Amazon here *cough* - You could buy the Kindle version instead if you wanted, but that wouldn't help my kids go to University.

9: Like a firm, ripe, peach - A slightly salacious post about 'Mooning', the act of baring one's buttocks in the direction of another person to show a general lack of respect (Caution, includes a description of an event that involves the buttocks of young boys - But I have never, at any time, been a Radio 1 DJ)

8: Priorities - An unusually serious post for The Chimping Dandy that describes the way that my Father told me that he was suffering with inoperable cancer.

7: Today, My Dad died - You can probably get what this one's about from the title - Had some good comments about this one.  Although you should probably know that what I call a good comment, would be something like 'That was difficult to read.'

6: Pogonophilia is for everyone, even the young - I'm so glad that this is still in the Top 10 - Although I understand that that might be because I pimp it every time someone mentions that they like beards on Twitter.

5: Learn to govern yourself, be gentle and patient - This is one of my personal favourites, it details some of the things closest to my heart, anachronism, Radio Four between 18:30 - 19:15, steampunk, bodily fluids and Victorian burial procedures

4: There's one born every minute - This post is the reason for all the Google searches involving the name 'Gunzmore' - It's about those people who share the 'If you like this post, Bill Gates will donate $1 to help this Polar Bear cub to get the plastic surgery he so richly deserves' posts on Facebook, despite knowing full well that it's complete balderdash.

3: Sabian, the Token Yank - More death here I'm afraid... But this time of a long-time friend, rather than a family member.  It does hold the current records for comments though, and bizarrely, it's the only post so far that I've had to delete an offensive comment from.

2: No, it is not a 'Slow News Day' - Now, I don't get this one in the slightest.  This is another 'State of the Dandy Nation' post, this time from September 2013 - There's a top-ten, a list of Google Searches like you'd expect... The only difference is that it gives you details about how you cam get hold of Chimping Dandy 'Merch' from the great people at HashTogs - They're on Facebook if you're interested... Please be interested... It'll make me feel that this isn't all for nothing.

And here we go.

The Blockbuster, the most popular post ever in the history of the Universe!

Destined to stay at number 1 for the foreseeable future:

1: You get me closer to God - Even though I ruthlessly stole the title of this post from the Nine Inch Nails, it's actually a story set in Church, about the time The Micro-Dandy got baptised - This is in the lead by, like, 100 pageviews - People seem to really like this stuff, and I'm not going to complain.  Even I think it's pretty good, and I wrote it.

-oOo-

So, there you go for another month (at least) - Please bear with us, normal service will be resumed in the near future - Maybe I'll do something about James Blunt (Blount) next.

P.S. if you want a higher-resolution version of the 'Dandy Nation' logo to make some stickers to stick on your nearest lamp-post or whatever, drop me an email, and I'll send you one

Please note: sticking anything on lamp-posts could be seen as defacement of property and you might get into trouble - So make sure you do it when it's dark

Today, My Dad died.

If you were with us in August, you'll know that my Father suffered from inoperable and aggressive bowel cancer, which, after stealing a look at his notes this morning, had metastasised, or spread, to other parts of his body.  He was given between three and twelve months to live, and he lasted for five.

He'd had a couple of falls recently that had taken it out of him a bit, one particularly nasty one earlier this week that had grazed his arms quite badly.  But as was his style, and the style of many ex-servicemen, he refused to go to the Doctor and get them checked out - on the basis that he "had had worse".  My wife and I took it in turns to go and see him, her one day and I the next, after I finished work.

Last night I let myself into his house to find that he had fallen after answering the door to someone and had lain in an unheated room, with his front door ajar for a number of hours.  The paramedic, who arrived within minutes of me calling 999 declared him Hypothermic, with a temperature so low that it didn't even show as a number on his electronic thermometer.

You know what I did between calling the emergency services and their arrival? Remembering all the time that I'm a qualified first aider?

I did nothing, I froze, I could not think what I should be doing... Luckily the guy on the end of the phone kept reminding me to breathe, otherwise I would have probably forgotten to do even that simple task.

The ambulance crew asked me all sorts of questions as we drove to the hospital, and every one of my answers were suffixed with 'I think' or 'But I'm not sure'

I sat in the waiting room for about three hours whilst they tried to bring his body temperature up to something approaching normal, going no faster than one degree per hour, so that they didn't introduce any extra strain onto his heart.  When they finally let me in to see him, we didn't recognise each other, there was just a frail old man swaddled in blankets, staring into the distance.  I sat with him for a while longer, watching tears forming in the corners of his unblinking, unmoving eyes.

When the nurses came, they asked me if I could leave the cubicle so that they could put him on a 'comfier bed' ready to take him up to the ward later, when his tests had come back.

I left the Cubicle,
then I left Resus,
then I left Accident & Emergency
then I left the Hospital and got a taxi home.

I felt so completely useless, almost in the way.

When the phone rang this morning at 05:30, I already knew why, the Ward Sister said that his status had declined, or some-such bland phrase and that I should probably come in as soon as I could.

He was in a side-room when I got there, which dissolved any last real threads of hope I had.  The Sister led me in and explained that all they were doing was making sure that he was comfortable, she asked how I took my coffee and left us alone.  I looked down at the shell of the man who had single-handedly raised me since I was eleven years old.  I asked him if he could hear me, I asked him if he knew how much I loved him.

Then I got angry and asked him if he knew what he was doing to everyone that he was leaving behind.

Then I watched as the shallow up and down movement of his chest slowed and stopped.

I thanked the Doctor, who explained that he hadn't suffered - That's the done thing I guess.

I thanked the Sister, who had given me the coffee and the 'Dealing with bereavement' booklet.

I walked the length of the ward, towards the exit with what I imagined to be the stoic, dignified stride of a gunslinger walking away from his last fight, determined to make it outside before I broke into a million pieces, I almost made it too.

But that would mean...

If you've read any of my previous posts, you'll know that I quite like using words that are rare and beautiful.  Words that don't get used in normal conversations very often.  Words that may have been more popular an age ago 'When the Map was Pink.'

Why do I prefer these words?  Well, I think that it's a real shame that we let these real words die when new ones come along.  I mean, I appreciate that the language moves with the times and the younger generation makes alterations to it based on fashion and emergent technology... For every 'Forsooth! or Egad!' there's a 'Chillax!' and for every 'Stout Yeoman' there's a 'Fam'

I don't mean to say that modern language is worse (Although it obviously is, in my not so humble opinion) And I truly look forward to the time, several hundred years in the future, where my brain is safely ensconced within a bulletproof plastic tank atop a fifty foot high, death dealing android body, where the rank and file plebeian populace will say things like:

'Subject number 236512, do you notice how Overseer 152 occasionally communicates using 21st Century terms?'
'Yes Subject number 623621, I do not understand why the identifying photograph on my survival suit is termed a "Selfie" or his exhortation for us to work faster is often preceded by him asking us to "Get our twerk on".'
'No Subject number 236512, I was not even aware that I had a "twerk" nor that it had accidentally fallen off.'

Also, I won't deny that I occasionally slip in a few snippets of modern youth argot for comedic effect - One likes to think that one is 'Down with the kids' doesn't one?

So, for your enjoyment and edification, I should like to present you with a few archaic or scientific terms, that may have fallen out of favour nowadays, but I think are due for a bit of a renaissance.

• Abraxas - A jewel or amulet, engraved with writing or imagery
• Bestiocracy - To be ruled by beasts
• Crepuscular - Of the twilight (as opposed to nocturnal - night or diurnal - day)
• Digitigrade - To walk only on the toes, like a cat or dog
• Euphonism - The use of pleasing sounding words (not to be confused with Euphemism)
• Factotum - A lackey or general assistant
• Gawdelpus - Someone who is completely helpless (Gawd-Elp-Us)
• Hystricine - Of, or pertaining to porcupines
• Impecunious - Having no money
• Jawhole - The entrance to a sewer
• Kobold - A spirit, specifically one attached to mineworkings
• Lexer - A Student of the law
• Mammiform - Shaped like a breast
• Numen - The presiding Deity of an area or group
• Ornithopter - A machine that flies like a bird (by flapping its wings etc.)
• Paneity - The state of actually being bread
• Quicksilver - Archaic name for Mercury (the liquid metal, not the planet)
• Rigidulous - Semi-stiff... *cough*
• Scholion - A note, written in the margin
• Trin - One of a set of triplets
• Uxorious - Being excessively fond of your own wife
• Visibilia - Things that can be seen
• Whiskerine - A beard-growing competition
• Xylomancy - Telling the future by examining pieces of wood, found on the path in front of you
• Yonderlay - Being mentally distant (not what Speedy Gonzales shouts)
• Zaftig - Having a full, round figure

I thought that twenty-six examples might be apposite.

As before when I've given you some new words to play with, try slamming them lewdly into any conversation that you may, or may not, have today.

Drop me a line, let me know how you got on - I'm genuinely interested,

There's one born every minute

You know what I hate?

Well, yes, stupid people, drivers of black MR2s that sit right up my trumpet going down the A45 this morning, haggis, gardening, chavs, pikies, people with whiny voices, people who eat noisily, shellfish, fruit in curries, drawn-on eyebrows, carrying so many plastic shopping bags that your finger-ends go white, other people's children and the French.

OK, no-one could have expected any of you guys to know that entire list, or the fact that what I'm about to waffle on about isn't actually on it.

At this precise moment in time, the thing that I hate more than anything in the Western World are things like this:

I've blanked out the poor kid's face for a couple of reasons...

1) No-one except possibly a facio-maxillary surgeon really wants to look at a picture of a child that's allegedly been shot in the face.
2) The privacy of the portrayed individual.
3) I have no idea whether this picture is actually of the person described in the text.
4) I have no idea whether the incident described in the text actually happened.

You'll notice that I haven't blanked out the person who posted this originally, as he knowingly posted this update (but without the face obscured, obvs.) and is therefore happy to have his face spattered all over the Internet.

Please note, I, at no point suggest that Mr Gunzmore, who I assume, from his Facebook page, is some kind of up-and-coming rap star, is using this image as some kind of sordid and heartless advertising tool.

So, what do I particularly hate about it?

Well, apart from the things that I enumerated above, and the fact that it's entirely posted in CAPITAL LETTERS and that the grammar is, quite simply, appalling... Let me post the entire text below, for those trying to read it on mobile devices:

-oOo-

14 YEAR OLD BOY WAS SHOT 6 TIMES BY HIS STEPFATHER . THIS BOY WAS PROTECTING HIS LITTLE 6 YEAR OLD SISTER WHO WAS ABOUT TO BE RAPED BY THIS POOR ... EXCUSE OF A MAN . THE LITTLE GIRL DID NOT GET HURT , THANKS TO HER BRAVE OLDER BROTHER . THEIR MOM WAS AT WORK WHEN THIS HAPPENED . NOW THIS BRAVE YOUNG LITTLE BOY IS FIGHTING FOR HIS LIFE , BUT DOCTORS SAY HE WILL NOT SURVIVE UNLESS HE GETS AN OPERATION WHICH IS COSTLY AND HIS MOM CANNOT PAY .ALL FACE BOOK COMPANIES HAVE AGREED TO DONATE 45 CENTS FOR EVERY TIME SOMEONE POSTS THIS TO THEIR WALL . SO , PLEASE SHARE THIS ON YOUR WALL . SO , THAT TOGETHER WE CAN HELP SAVE THIS BOYS LIFE .I JUST PASSED THIS MESSAGE DOWN AND "SHARE" FOR A LITTLE LIFE#HUMANITY COSTS NOTHING

NB; My post ain't about likes or shares its all about "humanity and charity service"

‪#‎join‬ US ( only if you cool) ;

Stay blessed world - make peace not WAR !

-oOo-

I have removed the gentleman's link to his Facebook page that Gunzmore put in after the 'Join US (only if you [sic] cool)' message, as leaving that in was just a little too sordid even for me.

So, let's see what is actually says (I'm not going to bother putting the word 'allegedly' in after every statement, you just go ahead and imagine I have, OK?)  So, a fourteen year old boy, trying to stop his Stepfather raping his little sister, gets shot six times.  Let's all take a look at the picture... The fact that you can't see any wounds would say to me that all of the damage in in the bit you can't see, i.e. the face.  Now, I have seen what's in the blanked out area - Don't get me wrong, it's not pretty, and a lot of his head is bandaged but it's more the sort of thing you'd expect to see if the child in question had been beaten with a bat.

The picture itself seems to have been taken in an Emergency Room, where even my rudimentary knowledge of the American Health System, backed up with a good five minutes research on Google, says that treatment for immediate life threatening trauma is free, certainly to a child.  Even the most heartless, jobsworth, doctors will not let a child die as a result of a crime because his parents cannot afford to pay for treatment.

And even if they would...

Facebook WILL NOT donate money to causes that are advertised by individuals in this way.  Mark Zuckerberg (who I really shouldn't have to introduce to you if you're reading this... And if you're not, I'm not going to introduce him out of spite.) regularly makes massive donations of his own money and Facebook shares to Charity.

Unless he means all of the fifteen million or so companies that have a Facebook presence? - The Chimping Dandy was never asked to take part, and neither was the company that currently pays my wages, despite having a number of Facebook pages.

So, We'll tot it up shall we?

There's a crime that may not have happened (+1) perpetrated by and on people who may well not exist (+1) and a boy that was certainly injured, but probably wasn't injured in the way described (+1), who definitely would not be allowed to die for financial reasons (+1) who could not be saved by such a plea, because Facebook doesn't operate like that (+1)

If I've added that up correctly, there are five instances of things you can happily call B*llsh*t on in one badly laid out paragraph without even thinking about it too hard.

So, can someone tell me why it has 358,591 likes, 53,573 comments and has been shared 628,657 times? (at the time of writing at least) - Which if it were true would mean that the un-named child would already have received $161,365.95 - If the 'Facebook Companies' just means Facebook itself, or $2,420,489,250,000.00 (Two and a half Trillion Dollars) if every company on Facebook donates 45c for every Like...

And that's only by Mr Gunzmore's share alone... If every one of the 628,657 people that shared it got a couple of likes, not only would we have saved the boy's life, he would now own the entirety of the known universe.

Does any of this seem a little bit unlikely to you yet?

I mean, it's all a lie, but some lies are at least believable aren't they? 

People can say things like 'No, it's perfectly fine that you used my toothbrush to clean the dog's rectum and took two weeks to tell me, I'll just buy a new one, no biggie.' - You might be able to believe the person who said that, if you were very simple, or if the person whose brush you used was a Buddhist Monk, legally and religiously obliged not to kill you with a rusty spoon.

I don't mean to single out Mr Gunzmore, I'm sure that he's a wonderful person who loves his mother very dearly - We've all seen the pictures of babies with lesions from some terrible illness, and young, dehydrated African children covered in flies that they are too weak to wave away.

They're terrible, and it shouldn't happen... But really, liking the image will not help their plight in the slightest, no-one will donate money to some unspecified cause because of you clicking a mouse and then scrolling down to see a picture of a cat asleep in a shoe.

Share them if you must, to raise awareness of the issue, but do me a favour if you will.

Take the time to see if the story that you're promoting is true, check Snopes Which is a great Urban Legend resource and can let you know with a quick search whether you're going to look an idiot when you press 'Post', and think what it is that you're promoting if it says 'For every like we get, 45c will be donated to the cause.'

Promoting a lie makes you a liar, and I know that no-one who reads The Chimping Dandy would admit to being one of those.

So, as a certain training shoe manufacturer may once have almost said, 'Just Don't Do It.'

 

There was this one time, at Chelsea FC

Now, before you panic, this post has little or nothing to do with football - In fact, it's about IT.

As it happens, the only even remotely football related part of it is that it took place at Stamford Bridge in Fulham, London, the home ground of Chelsea FC

(Here's one for factoid fans, did you know that Chelsea FC started originally, in 1905, as the pub team from the Rising Sun across the road?)

Anywho, I was working for a Nottingham based company who specialised in Educational IT Services and 'Building Schools for the Future' at the time, and we'd got a contract for 'upgrading' and documenting the IT systems of a primary school just around the corner from the ground.  As I was going to be there for a week or so, the company put me up in a hotel, which happened to be a very posh one based at 'The Bridge' as I'm assured the faithful call it.

Each glorious late spring morning, I would trundle from the hotel, buy myself a cardboard mug of scalding hot, soapy dishwater that was doing its best, but missing the point by a fairly massive amount, to masquerade as coffee.  Smile and wave cheerily at my fellow commuters as they happily skipped along the Fulham Road, With a song in their eyes and a determined thrill in their hearts, then arrive at the school some fifteen or so minutes later.

(On a lighter note, my spellchecker just tried to change 'Fulham' to 'Shameful' - And maybe I should have let it)

I'd spend the day tracing, then replacing network cables, trying to explain to the School's on-site IT guy what I was trying to achieve, although this took a while, because I could only talk to him between breaths, as he couldn't concentrate and breathe at the same time. And asking ridiculous question like 'Do you know where this bunch of cables goes?' or 'Would you mind not dribbling on my new shoes?'

The week featured many instances of me replacing little boxes with green flashing lights on with newer boxes with green flashing lights on and trying to trace cables through Victorian-built service risers, originally designed to be scaled by a five year old boy.  In fact, I did find myself looking at the occasional skinny, tousle-haired young chap and thinking, 'If he'd just grip my lengthy cable in his teeth and shin up this drippingly moist chimney, it would make my job go a lot faster.' But I stopped thinking this once I'd made the first few cry.

On the evening before the last day, I convinced myself that I'd done a good job and that I deserved a decent meal 'dans la Bistro' so I put on a tie, and wandered into the dining area.  I was greeted by Miguel, (That may or not have been his name, but he looked a little bit like the opera singer from the Go Compare advert, but without the lengthy moustache and he seemed to be happy to answer to it) who I'd been swapping funny stories with for the entire week, and he showed me to a table.

'Meal anna Drink Mr Dandy? Like-a yesserday?' He asked. (I should probably explain that my company was quite happy to pay for an evening meal and a single alcoholic drink, per person, per night)
'Yes, I suppose so Miguel, Although, seeing as it's my last night here, I'll let you decide what to bring.'
'Lass night here? Oh! Real pity, I bring you something nice, I havva juss tha thing!'

So, off he trotted to the kitchen, only to come back minutes later with a larger than average starter, to my eternal shame, I can't actually remember what it was, but it was definitely very nice, and not strictly from the 'Table d'hote' menu.  Once I'd finished that, he cleared the plate and gave me a huge lamb shank, which is one of my favourite ways to spend a formal dinner date.  Once my mouth was full of meat, he went to the bar and came back with a bottle of red wine.

'There-a you go Mr Dandy, your dreenk.'
I checked the label, it certainly wasn't the house red, so I looked at him quizzically and said, 'Ah, well, that's very nice and everything,' dabbing at the thick, warm, delicately seasoned, home-made gravy that was escaping from the side of my lips, 'But I'm afraid my expenses won't run to that.'
He tutted at me, 'Is OK, we order too much of this, too expensive, it not sell so well, we reduce the price next week anyway.'
'But still, I'm only allowed to charge one drink to my expense account.'
He pantomimed searching my table, lifting the cruet and looking under the napkins, 'I no bring you a glass. Is technically only one serving of wine.' He looked both ways conspiratorially and stage whispered, 'But I might have accidentally put an extra glass onna next table.'

So I had a splendid bottle of wine, a splendid meal (The desert was Eton Mess if I remember correctly) and wandered to my bed.

In fact, the meal was so good that I almost didn't mind having to pay the £75 bill for parking my car at the hotel when I checked out the following morning.

We should find the person responsible immediately!

What's wrong with you?

At this particular moment in time - Is there anything wrong? - Anything playing on your mind that you've done? - Are you heavier than you should be after eating two whole packets of chocolate biscuits? - Do you feel guilty for throwing away masses of food that you bought for Christmas that's just past its sell-by date because you put it in a 'hamper' and forgot about it? - Do you have massive debts due to credit card repayments or payday loans?

And whose fault is that?

Because I know my audience, I know that every single one of you just looked at your feet, which were busy shuffling uncomfortably, and thought 'It's my fault.'

Not My Fault... Not The Chimping Dandy's fault, Don't blame me! I mean, 'my' as in 'your' fault... Oh Gods, this is going all kinds of wrong.  What I mean to say is that you all have a passing acquaintance at least, with the notion of responsibility.

Here are a couple of bad things that I know and freely admit about myself:

I am heavy - about 260lbs - This is because I eat things that are bad for me a lot of the time and don't exercise enough, because I am lazy. (Although I am a little over 6', so that offsets it a little, but not much.) And  occasionally, I get out of breath just by thinking too hard about kittens.

I am lazy - This is because I lack motivation, a huge number of the things I like to do can be done sitting down, or lying down, or asleep.

I am broke, pretty much all of the time - This is because I'm an idiot, with the financial good sense of a one-legged gecko wearing a threadbare top-hat and a tarnished monocle and have, in the past, maxed out many a credit card trying to keep up with the latest technology and / or just entertaining myself (whilst sitting down, obviously).

And who do I blame?

Well, I blame me of course, these are all things that I knowingly did to myself over an extended period of time.  I'm an idiot, but I'm not stupid... Contrary to what many of you might secretly think.

But, did you know there are people out there, you might know some of them, that are perfect?  People who never make a mistake? People for who life is one febreze-scented tiptoe through the tulips after another?

We should feel sorry for these people, deeply, deeply sorry, because they are targets.  Every time one of these poor, Perfect People eats anything, or goes in the shower, or buys something, or goes to the shops they are targeted by cartels of mean-spirited corporate shills whose only passion in life is to force terrible things to happen to them over and over again.

I mean, if we go back to my example above, where one (or more *cough*) of us bought way too much food for Christmas and then threw it away because it 'went bad', we might think, because we are thoroughly normal people, that we should probably have bought less, and will try to remember that there are not 200 people in our immediate family next year.

But if you were a Perfect Person, you could think something like 'Look how [Insert vast Supermarket Conglomerate of your choice] have conspired to make me buy too much food by having all this tasty looking stuff for sale just before Christmas, forcing me to spend money I haven't got on things I don't really need or even particularly like. I shall report this to the local News service and see if I can get some guilt-fueled recompense.'

Staying with Christmas, you and I, the normal types with 2.4 children, may well have said, in mid-Deceember, after looking at their childrens' Christmas lists 'Damn, they want the brand-new game of Invasion of the Star-Killerons 7 for their XBox 360, but it costs £60. I can only really afford Invasion of the Star-Killerons 6, which was released six months ago and is now only £40... So they'll have to make do with that.'

But not the Perfect People, they would read that note, and a message would automatically be sent by a special App that had been downloaded onto the Brand New Apple iPhone 5S that they had recently been forced to buy by a man in the street, to the controllers of the daytime TV channel that they were watching.  This triggered an advert for a pay-day loan company to appear during the next break which would show an insanely happy child opening a brand new XBox One, complete with the Invasion of the Star-Killerons 7 Special XBox One Edition, with a limited edition T-Shirt and limited edition hat and limited edition soundtrack CD in a limited edition case that just won't fit on the shelf with all of their other games.  They ring the number, apply for the £600 pound loan and are accepted immediately, then stick their fingers in their ears and go 'La-La-La' whilst the terms and conditions (including the 4,267% APR interest rate) are explained to them, because, despite being Perfect, they think it all sounds a bit scary.

Then when the first repayment is due, they scream and cry and wail at the payday loan company for making it too easy for them to borrow money. 'You should have said no to me!' They will cry, 'I didn't know that it was going to be so expensive.' they will shout through gritted teeth (Which is very difficult, you should give it a try, although only Perfect People can really manage it) and have a picture taken for the local paper showing them with their very sad, very pudgy faces and reddened tear-stained eyes pointing at the four year old child that they borrowed the money to appease playing happily on their new games console, the digitised gore from the 18 rated game splattering the screen of the 60" HD 3D Smart TV that they bought him for his birthday in October.

Do you feel sorry for these people yet?

No?

Imagine the feeling they must have knowing that nothing they do is their own fault, everything that happens to them happens because of evil corporations who have nothing better to do than constantly force them into making decisions that, despite making perfect sense at the time, end up biting them in the rear end?

Poor Perfect People... Why will someone not start a charity to help them, the poor lambs?

Please send your donations to The Chimping Dandy at the usual address, quoting reference 'Wake up and smell the Pangolin, you meat-headed, responsibility-free sacks of offal, what the hells are you teaching your kids?'

First three responders will get a voucher for a free muffin from Greggs and a part-completed application form for a pay-day loan.