Warning: This post was published more than 13 years ago.
I keep old posts on the site because sometimes it's interesting to read old content. Not everything that is old is bad. Also, I think people might be interested to track how my views have changed over time: for example, how my strident teenage views have mellowed and matured!
But given the age of this post, please bear in mind:
- My views might have changed in the 13 years since I wrote this post.
- This post might use language in ways which I would now consider inappropriate or offensive.
- Factual information might be outdated.
- Links might be broken; embedded material might not appear properly.
Many thanks for your understanding.
Firstly, without wanting to precipitate on Marc’s carnival, why does Robert Winston have any more right to write about the human mind that I do? He’s a geneticist, not some kind of super-duper brain expert (like Susan Greenfield, or whatever her face is, who clearly wanted to be the next Robert Winston, but was too crap). I could’ve written that book, and it would’ve been a lot better if I had. Of that fact I am sure, even though I’ve never actually read it.
Also, whilst we’re Marc bashing, I keep thinking of the name Marcus Bentley constantly today. He’s the guy who did the Big Brother voiceover. I’ve no idea why, but I can’t get his name out of my head. I blame Marc, because of his name.
I suppose, in some small way, this Marc-bashing is replacing my JRC-bashing, which is temporarily on hold now he works six days a week . I don’t. And knowing that he works at Homebase, I feel great sympathy. Warm, cuddly sympathy. Thought JRC-bashing was always a generally more safe practice, given that he’s geographically speaking the furthest person away from me for most of the time.
On an unrelated note (and to actually get to the title of the post), my flat seems to be currently in the grips of Marmitegate. There seems to be stealing of Marmite occurring. This has escalated from “Where’s my marmite?”, to a large black-and-yellow home made sign being erected in the kitchen, warning that a Marmite thief is about and that all Marmite should be securely locked up. As someone who doesn’t like the stuff anyway, it doesn’t really affect me.
Today I have learned how to make someone pee themselves to death. Literally. With all the knowledge on (what I think are) amusing ways to die, I can’t help but wonder why so many depressed doctors do boring things like cut their wrists. Would it not be much more entertaining to be discovered dead in a 25 litre-or-so pool of your own piss? You could flood a room with less than that. I’ve also learned the definite hang-over cure. I would share it with you, but it’s a lot more boring that you might think it is, so I’d prefer to retain an air of mystery around it. Oh, and I’ve also learned that you can kill yourself by overdosing on water. Just plain, boring water. Who’d have thunk it?
In other news, the house I was planning on renting for next year has been offered to someone else. Which means I’ll have to continue house hunting. I blame Marc…after all, his name is only one letter away from March, and everybody knows that in the past, MURDERS have been committed in March!
My Website is now close to making a profit . I’ve added Lazlo Bane lyrics too, so things can only get better.
I’m off to tidy up now, since the Pile O’Work that has been growing for just over a week has finally fallen over. It was over a foot tall. I could rebuild, but that’s probably not the most sensible thing to do.
I have a one hour lecture tomorrow called “How to Kill an Anorectic Cat”. Not entirely sure what that may be about, so I’ll have to report back at a later date.
That’s all for now.
Originally posted on The LBSC