Stockport Got Mobbed

Stockport had its very own flash mob last week.  Look:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v6RhZgqkPXU

 

I’ll be honest: it’s not up there with the greats, like the Silent Disco of 2006, when people began dancing to their iPods in all London Underground stations; or the Worldwide Pillow Fight of 2008.

But I’d rather see Stockport kids dancing in the street than drinking, so three cheers for them.

NOTE:  Something’s up with my You Tube posts and they’re not showing on my site; you can click on the link while I have a word with the techies.

Let Sleeping Blogs Lie

Image by Observe The Banana via Flickr

It wasn’t lying so much as not realising the truth.

I mentioned a while back that I was having trouble sleeping.  You offered some excellent solutions but none of them were of any help.

Don’t take it personally: how could you give me the answer to my problem if I gave you duff information?  The solution for a broken leg is not a three course meal and the solution for my broken sleep was not shutters or eye patches because the cause was not dawn light, as I thought, but anxiety.

Don’t blame yourselves.  Or me: I live in a fantasy world where nothing is my fault so how could it be my fault that I didn’t mention I was anxious about something?  Blame the government (my default position, because I always vote).

I have an issue with a government department and I was waiting for a letter to arrive that would prove me right and them wrong.  It arrived yesterday and guess what?  Eight hours of unbroken sleep last night.

Thank you all the same; I really do appreciate the help you offered, useless as it was.

Sleep deprivation is a strange thing: housework is neglected, tempers are frayed, jokes go untold.  But throw in a baby and you don’t find yourself hurling a child across the room for crying six hours straight; you call the doctor and marvel at your own patience and selfless love for the little monster.  Throw in a teenager and you marvel at your own patience and selfless love for the little scrote.  Throw in a husband and you ask for a divorce.

Some people do that, of course; but not me.  Once again, the Hub came up trumps.  I was tired and grumpy all day, in spite of the letter, which I didn’t know at that point was going to act as last night’s narcotic.  I sighed a lot.  By dinnertime I had sighed so much I was hyperventilating.

The Hub stood in the middle of the room and grabbed at nothing in the air.  When I asked what he was doing, he replied, ‘I’m catching your sighs so they stop bothering you.’

I knew when he said ‘you’ he meant ‘me’ as in ‘him’ rather than ‘you’ as in ‘me’, who is ‘I’, but I thought he was rather sweet.  He hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in fifteen years and I’ve responded in many ways, most of which involve yelling or hiding but none of them had me prancing like a girl to show how much I love him.

He’s not bad, as husbands go.  I might hang on to him.  I’ll sleep on it.

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Footnote: Eight hours or not, I still have some catching up to do.  Besides forgetting to schedule this morning’s joke, I made five spelling mistakes in this post.  Unheard of. 

Joke 77

This joke comes courtesy of Cindy, who sent it; and Viv, who reminded me to post one.

A policeman came to my front door last night, holding a picture of my wife.
He asked, “Is this your wife, sir?”
“Yes,” I said.
 The policeman told me, “I’m afraid it looks like she’s been hit by a bus.”
“I know,” I said, “but she has a lovely personality.”