Healthcare defence. How to blow your nose.

Posted: December 28, 2023 | Author: | Filed under: Brief...therefore witty. | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

I’ve had a head cold.

It’s been very Christmassy.

A solution was to blow my nose, which I now know was a mistake without proper training.

Simply, I blew my nose too hard, to the point that the room began spinning after an immense pop.

I was dizzy, and after enjoy that for a minute or sonwith a few twirls about thr kitchen, i decided to google what might be seriously wrong with me.

Apparently, I never learned to blow my nose properly. And probably, nor did you.

I visited a health are website which explained: “if you blow your nose with too much force, the air that moves through the tube puts intense pressure on the little bones of your inner ear.”

Immediately upon hearing this, I felt like a right bastard.

Oh those poor little ear bones. There’s only three of them and they’re tiny. And I imagine they’re sisters too, being a trio, yet also a mix of toddlers and grannies; the traditionally infirm.

Too much pressure? I can relate, oh my dear, dear little ear bones.

The sympathy I felt was immense. Not for me, but for my ear bone trio that never did nothing to nobody.

Without a doubt, this same sympathy should be utilised for the benefit of our own health, individually and nationally.

Consider this. You drink too much. You think to yourself “this isn’t doing me any favours really, but oh well”. So you drink. Too much.

Now picture the same scenario, but with your liver sobbing quietly because the nasty alcohol was picking on it and pickling it.

I need to stimulate the same for my ventricles. Don’t we all?

We (well, even if you all don’t, I will) should adopt a more aggressive, protective, perhaps even parental attitude to our health.

Psychopathic, would be most appropriate.

“Anyone here got a problem with my darling little gall bladder, step my way and I’ll nut you…..with my defenceless little forehead….”

It might be a flawed approach, but then apparently so is the traditional method of blowing one’s nose.

One nostril at a time everyone, same for blowing your nose as it is for all things.

One nostril. Less dizzy. And defend your gall bladder with your lives.

Sam

PS: this is written in memory for those dearly beloved little ear bones. They just couldn’t take the pressure of the season.

I’ve achieved so much less than Henry VIII

Posted: July 15, 2023 | Author: | Filed under: Brief...therefore witty. | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The above title might read as though I’m eager, so eager, to behead more of my wives, and I won’t deny that I am definitely behind Henry VIII there.

He’s ahead in the beheading.

But I’ve got better wifi than he did, although that’s not really my doing.

In fact, I think beheading as a competition is a dead-end, much like Anne Boleyn’s neck.

It’s all very unpleasant, but at least they didn’t die from being be-footed. That’s not something you can walk-off.

Henry VIII was very accomplished prior to being notorious (when he was – it seems – lovely). More so than me anyway, and I’ve been notorious since the 90s.

This is making me feel inadequate. Regally.

Henry was a well-regarded jouster (I don’t even have my own Herald – so embarrassing), he wrote poetry and studied philosophy, spoke French and Latin, and established the Church of England – which I didn’t do.

In fact, I was raised CoE, which is also embarrassing. Of course, now I’m Catholic, just to spite him.

I need to get busy living if I’m going to catch-up with that dead monarch.

He lived till he was about 55, which means I’ve 22 years to out-do him in at least that regard.

I could start with Latin, but splitting from Rome and establishing my own religion seems a lot easier.

I’ll develop it from Taoism, and since I don’t really know what that is, and I’ll be the only practitioner, it’ll maintain a degree of ecclesiastical mystery. Then I’ll need robes, a big book, and something golden to hold and waggle about to convince people I’m informed in that ‘post-death’ sense.

Next up, the wives thing.

Just checked with my wife and she says that’s a no-go area. Zero divorces, zero beheadings. She was happy with the ‘survived’ prospect as a wife, but despite being a founder of my own religion – I’m not stupid enough to overrule my wife.

Lastly, poetry.

“Roses are red, violets are blue, good poems are short, so I think that’ll do.”

The second I click ‘publish’ on this blog, I’ll be a published poet. Genius.

So, since it’ll take a while to learn Latin, I’ll plow away at that until I’ve gotten the gist of it – at least to the point of being able to throw a few phrases at people.

“YES I KNOW TIME FLIES SAM, THANK YOU! AND YES I ALREADY WAS SEIZING THE DAY – LEAVE ME ALONE!!!”

Jousting though.

I’ve still no Herald, nor a horse.

But I’ve got loads, an enviable amount in fact, of long sticks.

And a big dog.

This may be a problem, even if it goes according to plan.

I also am without an opponent.

But I do have a wife, and she’s annoyed with me due to the divorce and beheading discussion from earlier, and she has her own collection of long sticks, so she may be well up for it.

She has a bicycle she can use, but I’ll stick with the dog so I’m less lonely.

Henry VIII probably was lonely too at times.

I wonder if anyone knows his dog’s names?

Anyway, 22 years to go.

Sam (the first)

The Crabs of St James’

Posted: November 22, 2018 | Author: | Filed under: Brief...therefore witty., Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Have you ever been in St James’ Park tube station?

Does it give you the impression that it should have a crab problem?

I’ve asked; it doesn’t, but I can’t help but step off the train when passing through to wonder if I can hear the sea waves echoing down the tunnel, or the crunch of sand sifting between my smart work shoes.

I think Margate affected me.

Something about St James’s Park underground causes me to reminisce of the seaside.

Perhaps it’s the wall tiling, perhaps it’s the colours; it’s probably me.

And it probably is me because I would love so very much if you were to offer me the seaside as opposed to the capital.

London is not adorable, nor whimsical.

The most whimsical it gets is a degree of pomposity that endears it to the Japanese.

London at its most charming is the fact that the river leads elsewhere.

Unless of course we want to drool a little on the dreams of empire, with colossal great white buildings, lathered with muscular nudity and lions, British flags and stout-hearted pigeon poo.

During the empire, British men had muscular feet don’t you know, whilst our women were pleasantly plump as might be bespoke of some great artist of the era, conveying nobility, fertility, and justice via a patriotic curve of the hip.

Good form.

Hardly the seaside though, is it?

A bucket and spade no use in these gold-paved streets.

Still, I picture little crabs earnestly busying themselves sideways, creasing me to a smile as I hear in my head the sound of shelled scuttling on gold.

I wasn’t meant to get off at St James’ Park tube station.

Nor did I mean for a moment to step off the train and out of London.

But there you go, and there I went.

Like a grotto.

Hmm. 

Back to the crossword.