Eh-oh, dear reader - and welcome to the world of flying Minge.
I've missed blogger, I really have. I'm a real bloghead.
First things first: do you know where this is? Do you?
Very sad news: Gabby's Mum died while I was down in Bournemouth. Please keep her and her family in your thoughts and prayers. Click here to read about charitable donations.
I've had a nightmare(ish) journey to Edinburgh today, all courtesy of FlyBe and the great British weather, ie: fog. Click here to read all about it.
I rose this morning at 0400, took a taxi to the train station in Bournemouth at 0445 for the 0515 train to Southampton Airport Parkway. No delays. Phew. Then I got to the airport. My flight up to Edinburgh was delayed, but only slightly. The flight leaving five minutes earlier for Glasgow had been cancelled. The result was combining the two flights, the aeroplane making a brief stop in Glasgow.
Of course, the reason for my day trip to Edinburgh was to see the surgeon at the hospital about my tongue. I got there, if you'll excuse the pun, dear reader, by the skin of my teeth.
I was treated to good news, but not as good as I'd have liked.
The tumour on my tongue was indeed cancer, but not the aggressive type, treated easily and with a very high success rate. The lovely Doctor assured me that it had been, "...removed, completely and utterly..." A blood test will hopefully prove this. I can barely remember the name of my famed cancer and attempting to spell it proves a fruitless exercise with any search engine. I will therefore have to remain ignorant until I see the good Doctor again at the end of January.
I see my GP for the blood test results early in the new year.
And I'll be seeing the fabulous surgeon every six months for the next two years for check ups, just to be on the safe side. But she's confident. As am I.
Minge didn't exactly dice with death, but I am glad to have only seen The Grim Reaper out of the corner of my eye and not a close-up, nose-to-nose encounter.
Ian and I will have a chinky for tea and then he'll drive me over to the airport for my return fluges to Southampton. I'm crossing my fingers that there will be no late cancellations nor delays. Hanging around in the freezing fog is not my idea of fun.
On my way to the bus, after having left the hosptial, I took a wee walk along Princes Street here in Edinburgh. Pandora's box by OMD was pumping out of HMV. I wondered if a manufacturer of porn had realised the possibilities of this title. I hope it went under the porndar, though. I love OMD and pornographing their back catalogue would be an absolute disgrace. Did that sentence actually make sense?
I had a few newspapers to read this morning and was even offered a free copy of The Daily Mail on the aeroplane. The offer was met with a polite, yet firm, "No thank you," from Minge. I do not read Nazi rags.
The Times and Metro, however, made for interesting reading. I read that Dubya may boost the number of US troops in Iraq...
In the months before the invasion of Iraq, General Eric Shinseki, the army chief of staff, told Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld that three hundred thousand to four undred thousand troops would be necessary to bring about a stable Iraq. Rumsfeld, who had no personal experience with ground war, dismissed Shinseki's estimate as, "...far off the mark." Rumsfeld insisted that one hundred and forty thousand troups could accomplish the mission. Four years later, despite secterian violence, lethal attacks on American troops and mass murders, American troop levels are less than one hundred and fifty thousand, a figure called insufficient by, among others, General Anthony Zinni, former Centcom commander; Colonel John Agoglia, planner for Centcom and Senator John McCain.
Was cash a problem for the Federal Government and Defense Department?
In 2006, Dubya's tax policy resulted in an average tax benefit of $23.00 for Americans in the lowest 20% of personal income. The middle 20% of Americans received a benefit of $748.00. The top 1% of Americans received an average tax benefit of $39,000.00. Individuals making more than $10,000,000.00 a year saw their tax bill decrease by an average of HALF A MILLION DOLLARS.
Perhaps Dubya should stop looking after the rich and concentrate on the military personel and poorest Americans. It's just a thought, dear reader.
Still in the news, I'm amazed at how many Americanisms are appearing in the press and slipping into everyday usage:
Pain in the ass
Gotten just isn't a word. Thru is a lazy way of spelling through. Hookers are prostitutes. We'll say, "Merry Christmas," thank you. I've never had a pain in my donkey, but I have had a pain in my arse.
Ooh, I'm being a total bitch today, dear reader.
Oh, but my heart was gladdened to see someone use the term dear reader in a report in the Times, dear reader. Its catching, I tell you.
Something that does upset me, even as a committed republican, is the way some people in the media, who should know better, label our head of state The Queen Of England. I'm planning on sending a nasty letter to those concerned.
Fib Sunday will be taking a well earned rest until the new year, dear reader. Meanwhile, you can still play, if you would like, by clicking here. Expect a new edition on 7th January 2007.
Until my next meeting with a computer, may I take this golden opportunity to wish you the most fabulous of Christmases and all the best for 2007.
But before I go:
A primary school teacher decided to introduce her pupils to the sciences.
"Now children," she began, "I want you to think for a moment. If you had no skin, what do you think would make a good substitute?"
Little Suzie piped up, "Please, Miss. I think gold would be good. I could pick off a little bit, sell it and buy a Mercedes."
"Very good," responded teacher.
Raising her hand, Julie offered, "I'd have platinum. It's rarer than gold. I'd get more money. I could pick off a wee bit, sell it and buy a Mercedes and a BMW."
"Oh! Good!" replied teacher.
Johnny now stepped in with, "Please, Miss, I'd have pubic hair!"
"Why on earth would you have that?" asked teacher.
"Well," said Johnny, "My sister's only got a wee bit around her chuff and you should see all the cars outside our house."
Oh, and just enough time for my annual un-PC Christmas joke:
A wee girl goes into a department store to see Father Christmas. She sits on his knee and he asks:
"So, little girl, what would you like for Christmas?"
"I'd love some hair around my vagina," she replied.
"Oh," said Santa. "Will a little white beard do?"