Order and chaos

Whilst utilising the ablutionary facilities at our local hospital following a satisfying poo, I couldn't help but notice a noticeable notice informing me that something was Out Of Order.

Having re-read that sentence, two things have just occurred to me. The first is that the provision of such information could be classified as a bit on the "too much" side, and the second is the possibility that I might have given the impression I have to go to hospital to have a poo.

Let me put your feverish minds at rest, because I don't have to. In fact, the finest pooologist in the hospital* has told me, repeatedly, that I don't need to go there any more, and that maybe I shouldn't have been all these years anyway, and furthermore my argument incorporating the outrageous expense of paper and the dearth of dock leaves in my garden isn't considered a medical emergency by even the most eminent gastrointestinal specialists, apparently.

There. Now if, as in modern kid parlance, that is considered "TMI" then so is informing everyone of the most mundane detail of my life, like how I like to slam my willy in the fridge door whilst balancing a frying pan full of eggs on my head.

And that's just a domestic chore essentially.

Ooh, a digression. Did you see that? Just there. Yeah, I know.

Now where was I?

Oh yes, the Out of Order sign. Well, it wasn't the notice itself that prickled my curiosity, but it's location:

It was just taped to the wall.

I prodded the wall, but it seemed to be working. I looked above and below the sign, but there was naught to be seen but a cockroach, and that also seemed to be functioning normally.

Maybe the whole room was Out of Order. If so, a janitor was going to have a nasty surprise in the morning after my visit.

Perhaps it was out of numerical order.

1,2,3,4,toilet,9,10.

Maybe it was angry, that sort of out of order.

"Poo in me would ya! Why I oughta . . ."

Maybe it was misspelled and should have read Out Of Ordure, or possibly Out of Odour?

Well, I certainly fixed either of them possibilities.

Fixed 'em good.

Then it occurred to me that, perhaps, the Out Of Order notice was for a window, which was so out of order it had completely disappeared. You don't get less workable as a window than a solid wall.

That totally makes sense BTW.

After the usual hour or so of contemplation you get sitting on the lav, it occurred to me that the wall was, in fact, simply a storage facility for the Out Of Order sign, rather than out of order itself.

This is quite interesting because it makes one consider the difficulties in placing an unrequired Out of Order sign in an appropriate place, without it causing that place to then be rendered unused.

To conclude, I really shouldn't post after three quarters of a bottle of Vin de Pays d'Oc and an empty stomach.



*Dirty Rosita, in Laundry Services.

Babbling on

I live in a world dominated by poo.

If you're new to The Gravel Farm, don't worry. You haven't accidentally stumbled upon a blog dedicated to the arguable delights of coprophilia*.

I have a baby:



A hairy one.

We shall call her "Bonobo".

Now, I don't particularly want to write a blog about babies, because there are lots of specialist blogs dedicated to the hormonally challenged which are far better at depicting cutesie sprog pics and gushing prose about Juniors every move, but at the moment it's all I know.

So forgive the momentary lapse into goo territory.

There are only a few things babies are good at:

Crying. Doing an impression of a tortoise on it's back. Slow blinking. Weeing like tiny racehorses. Grabbing their own eyes. Hiccuping.

And poo.

They are very good at poo.

You get obsessed with the stuff.

Is it there? Is there enough of it? Is there too much? It's black! Is it supposed to be black? Is it black enough? Is it too black? It's green! Is it supposed to be green? Is it green enough? Is it too green? It's yellow! Is it supposed to be yellow? Is it yellow enough? Is it too yellow?

You get the drift.

This is the second time I've been through this and, although I'm definitely a bit more relaxed about it now, I still worry.

My nappy changing skillz are phat, mind.

You start off gritting your teeth and panicking about the tiniest crumb of potential contamination, and you end up changing a full nappy with one hand and not putting your doughnut down with the other.

Like I said, skillz.

Of course, the other thing babies are good at is making your chest swell and your emotions run high, so you're happy to stare at them like a soppy hawk for no reason at all and run to attend to their every need.

Conniving little critters.



*If you were looking for such a site can I direct you to this purveyor of specialist hot tubs. No need to thank me. Each to their own. I'm not one to judge. Mind if we don't shake?

Challenge(d)

Occasionally, I set myself a challenge. Sometimes, it involves stopping crime or challenging injustices in the higher echelons of society. Other times, I aim to shift the balance of governmental power or find a new stable element and call it Dangermousium.

I rarely succeed in these, and am coming to the reluctant conclusion that I am setting the bar a tad on the high side. Even now, my self-imposed deadline for publishing a set of equations unifying gravity with current quantum theory is threatening to pass uncompleted because I can't find the plus button on my keyboard.

So, every now and then, I take things down a notch or two. One of those now-and-thens was a recent trip to the local supermarket, which is actually no bigger than most markets, and is essentially a big shop, so why it's called a supermarket I don't know. Moderatemarket would be more apt, I think. Anyway, I decided to take three photos on my phone which I would then put on this blog, be they funny, boring or just odd.

I walked in a picked a basket, which had a note in it. This in itself is not uncommon. People often leave their used shopping lists in the basket because they can't be arsed to take it out, and I'm one fo those interminable nosey sorts who will look at it, amazed that someone actually buys pink wafers and blue pop. I don't use shopping lists because I trust my memory, and anyway I quite enjoy the inevitable repeat trip for bread and milk 40 minutes later. Gets me out of the house.

This note though, wasn't a list, but an instruction:

It says "Lock Shed!", and even has a picture of a lock on it, to reiterate it's main thrust. I took a photo (obviously) as it's one of those things that raises lots of pointless questions, all of which serve no purpose whatsoever. Who left it? Don't they normally lock their shed? Why take the note to the supermarket, which is probably not where the shed is? Does the fast underlining mean that it's particularly important that the shed is locked today?Why? Is there a prisoner in it? Should I call the police and demand they start an investigation, perhaps using forensics and profiling and phones that go biddly-oop-oop and get answered after just one ring?

You know, the usual stuff.

After the nice lady asked me not to call 999 again, unless there was a real emergency, I continued with my shopping trip. Sadly, there was very little else that caught my eye in the Normalmarket, and I didn't fancy posting a picture of a dented tin, because that would be silly.

Also, I didn't see a dented tin.

So I bought a butty and went to the nearby churchyard to scoff it. Unfortunately, as I went to sit on a bench, I noted with disgust that there was poo on it:


I moved away and found another seat, and looked around for some picturey inspiration, but all I could find was a cruelly enclosed tree:

This did make me wonder what the point of the cage was, as it's too big to stop rabbits and squirrels, and there aren't any livestock in that area. It also doesn't stop local teens from using it as a cider-can-and-condom disposal unit, so I'm left with the only conclusion that the cage is to protect us from the tree, which is a terrifying thought.

So there you go. One set of random photos from a quick jaunt out. They're not big, and they're not clever, which suits me down to the ground.

+

Hey, there it is! It was right above the equals all the time!