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Last login: 4 hours agoMucky: Jeremiah Scrindleplum is a 41 year old guy in a relationship from Shaving A Beard, England, UK.; Likes 5,037 pages, 584 videos, 159 photos • 166 fans • Received 63 reviews; Member since Jul 23, 2006

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Feb 27, 2:35pm

Feb 27, 2:34pm: I was hit by Happibun...

"Here are the Rules:
1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages).
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Post a comment and then tag five more people."

Atonement - Ian McEwan:

"The only light was from a single green-glass desk lamp which illuminated little more than the tooled leather surface on which it stood. When she took another few steps she saw them, dark shapes in the furthest corner. Though they were immobile, her immediate understanding was that she had interrupted an attack, a hand-to-hand fight. The scene was so entirely a realisation of her worst fears that she sensed that her over-anxious imagination had projected the figures onto the packed spines of books."

Jan 11, 4:07pm: I keep stumbling on things telling me how to use semicolons; take this you buggers:

In an alliterative flight of fancy; the rain rancours down on poor old Nancy
Oh, poor old, poor old, poor old Nancy; she covers her head with her fiancee
He's very large and flat and round; a handy thing to have around
And on those days when very bored, is used as a Frisbee or chopping board...

---

The snow it is falling; outside it is white
Inside it is not; it's as black as the night
And now there's a thing; black snow, what a sight
I'll tell you something, it just isn't right...

---

Oh Fee, oh Fi, oh Fo, oh Fum; Am I a giant, or am I Tom Thumb?
I am not sure, I cannot tell; I am confused, I'm going to yell...
But hang on there, I have a feeling; my head it's scraping on the ceiling...
Don't worry now it's sorted out, no longer any need to shout...

---

God I am bored; these rhymes will undo me
I'll swallow a sword; perhaps then a fruit tree
There they'll be stored; in perpetuity
Will I fit in my Ford, or be able to ski...?

----

Poor little f; abandoned and lost
How could you do it; with him being deaf?
Poor little letter; so rudely quit
I'll have some more wine, but only a bit...

---

I hope you have sobered; more likely sleeping
A valance squandered; likely you're weeping
So R's drinking beer; I hope it's not seeping
Out through his ear, or through his nose creeping...

---

Ah, the rural idyll; oh, to be in a field
Ah, the art of drivel; oh, to be in a field
Ah, my head begins to swivel; oh, to be in a field
Ah the grass it makes me dribble, oh to be in a field...

---

Are you sick yet; it could go on forever
So many words; will it end ever?
Will my I.S.P disconnect; an effort to sever?
I'll make this the last, and go look at some weather...

Oct 13, 2007 5:12am: Friend asked me this morning:

"Do you know where I could buy some "Euthenesia"?

"What?!" I said, a little surprised...

"That stuff that's good for colds?"

"Ah. You mean Echinacea...?"

"Yes..."

Sep 25, 2007 4:28pm: So, I've been having this problem with my hip... yes, I'm just not cool and trendy any more...

Not that I ever was, you understand. Well... maybe for five minutes in the summer of 1982, whilst listening to "The Smiths", being depressed and dressed in black with pierced ears, inside an adolescent bedroom locked against invading sisters.

Bloody ears swelled up (nothing to do with the music, I think). Doctor had to remove the earrings. Never had anything else pierced.

Drifting back to the point...

On Saturday, went for an MRI scan accompanied by Friend. Hung around in the waiting room for a while, wondering why "Shooting Monthly" appeared to be the only magazine available to pass the time.

A nurse approached and escorted me outside, leaving Friend in the waiting room ("he'll be half an hour-ish") through the car park, to a large trailer, and up some rickety metal steps into a small room filled with two nurses, two computers, and myself.

"Pop through that door please, take off your trousers, and put the gown on so that it opens at the back, then lie down on the bench".

"OK..."

I'm greeted by a large cylinder, some six feet long, just big enough to get a corpse, erm I mean a body, inside.

I get undressed and lie on the bench. Then I get up, put the gown on, and then lie back down again...

The nurse knocks on the door, and enters, fiddles with a few knobs and causes the bench to rise.

She then ties my ankles together and gives me a squeezy rubber panic button to use in the event of "an emergency", and places a weighty padded matting over the area to be scanned.

(An emergency? What emergency? And what's that mat doing over my groin?)

"Put these headphones on please. It deadens the noise. I can play some music if you want?"

(Noise? What noise?)

"Yes, please. Thanks".

Nurse leaves the room and the bench rises further and begins to slide into the middle of the cylinder, so my head is protruding out the other side.

Then the opera music begins...

"Is that OK, sir?", she says through an intercom system built into the headphones.

"Yes", I say politely, "that's fine".

"Right, we're going to do six scans. Each takes around two minutes".

Thirty seconds later the noise starts, kind of like having a cross between a pneumatic drill and a machine gun go off next to your ears... all the while being faintly masked by indistinguishable opera music.

Which then begins to skip and gets stuck, playing the same section of music every five seconds or so.

They don't notice. Is this what they mean by an emergency? I think not... best lie back and think of England.

Being a man, thoughts eventually drift around to sex (after about three minutes) which has an undesirable side effect best left to the imagination - or best left OUT of the imagination...

Thinks: "Oh hell, will this affect the scan?! What if it moves the matting..." (as if...)

In situations like this, lying in a large electromagnet listening to a stuck opera CD and being assaulted by sounds of pneumatic drills and machine guns, whilst attempting to lift a heavy object using the power of the force, I always wish I'd listened to what my Father said...

And that's it of course, the magic thought at any age. Thank God for parents...

And then the sounds stop as the bench moves outside the cylinder again; the juddering opera is interrupted by a voice: "That's it now Sir, all over".

The nurse comes in, removes the immovable, unties my ankles, leaves the room, I get dressed, and am escorted back to the waiting room, hoping Friend hasn't had any ideas from reading the "Shooting Monthly" that she looks up from when I enter.

"How did it go?" she asks.

"Oh, fine..."

Sep 17, 2007 3:40pm: I've decided, since I've been unable to use my waterrower for ages, that skipping (with a rope) is the thing for me. Doesn't hurt my hip and is ridiculously aerobic.

Occasionally I sneak to the bottom of the garden and hide behind a bush... but that's a different story. Actually, I hide behind a large conifer, out of sight of the neighbours, as I spend 15 very long minutes attempting to skip, looking and sounding like a wheezing frog deprived of an air supply whilst being jerked in irregular upward movements by a hidden puppeteer...

Sep 17, 2007 3:26pm: Well.

I got to the Hospital at around 8:45am and went into reception:

"Good morning. I've got an appointment at 9:15"

"Who are you seeing?"

"I can't remember the name..."

"Is it Mr Mohammed, Ear Nose and Throat, or Mr Legolas, Orthopaedics?"

"It must be Mr Legolas... he's not an Elf is he? About 7000 years old with pointy ears?"

Sigh. "No. What's your name?"

[ Name announced ]

[ Receptionist looks through the appointment book ]

"Are you sure it's today?"

"Yes; at 9:15am"

"We have an appointment for you with Mr Maxwell on the 19th September..."

"Ah... OK then."

... and thanks to I-Did-What who asked: "Is Mr Maxwell the psychiatrist...?"

Aug 28, 2007 12:37pm: Cyprus is lovely - but I have to keep leaping from shaded spot to shaded spot like some peculiar long-legged gangling creature.

Why do people want to lay, or sit, in the sun?

I try it for fifteen minutes to try to convince myself that: "Hey maybe it really IS a good idea". I look around and yes, it IS only me that seems to be producing enough liquid to reforest the Sahara.

Friend seems quite happy, frying and perspiring in a gentle ladylike way, as I steam pinkly across to the bar: "Seven thousand gallons of water!", I exclaim, feeling like I've been passed through a mangle.

The staff gaze at me. "It's hot today, isn't it sir" someone says. It's difficult to tell who, whilst squinting through a veil of wet hair.

So, I move further away from the young lady in front, and whisper: "Why yes. Yes it is... water... water... please...".