Cheese and Marmite

Let's get off on the right foot. I like mature Cheddar cheese. None of that rubbish "mild" rubbish. It has to be strong to give a decent flavour.

I also quite like Marmite for similar reasons.

But then that got me thinking. What if you were to combine those two flavours? Two of the strongest and barely edible flavours on the planet combine, and what do you get?

There can only be one answer. Or maybe two, but let's concentrate on one.

A Black Hole.

The flavours are so strong that when combined, the sheer flavour mass of them attracts their own gravitational field which then sucks everything else in. First the bread disappears, and then the rest of the planet follows.

Either that, or it just tastes a bit strong and you probably won't do it again.

Or you'll like it, which'd make you a bit weird.

Feline racism.

Div was a cat that shared a lot of experiences with me, passing away at the grand old age of twenty due to a cancerous tumour that was inoperable at his age.

He was jet black in his day, and a handsome young chap who'd let you stroke him until he was bored. He'd then turn around, bite you, and wander off for some lunch.

As the years wore on, Div was less and less capable of defending his territory (back gardens) until we moved house to new back gardens that were already the territory of other cats in the neighbourhood. He had no chance of winning a fight at fourteen, and conceeded the territory to the other cats, spending most of his time indoors and going to the toilet in our own garden instead.

When we first moved, he experienced some resistance and was beaten up occasionally by the other cats.

I was explaining the above to my younger sister, and without even missing a beat or stopping for thought for that matter, she asked:

"Why did they beat up Div? Is it because he was black?"

I couldn't decide whether it was tragic, funny or just plain confusing that she'd asked that question. If the (admittedly confused) younger generation are convinced that race spans across other species, is the issue of race eradicated as much as we'd like?

Useage of the pub amenities

Have you ever seen people use them?

I'm not talking about the toilets as such. I'm not talking about the bar itself.

I'm talking about its badly placed and inconceivably garish machines placed in the gents that accept only pound coins and give no change.

Condom machines. Mint machines.

I can picture it now.

Good ol' Dave has been speaking to a woman all night. For him, 9 pints of cider entices him to believe that the woman he's talking to who has no teeth and a hair lip is the most beautiful girl in the pub, and the rest of the room has faded to black.

He heads off to the toilets with his 'tail up', looking to expell urine and gain some extra courage.

Whilst stood at the urinal psyching himself up, he sees a large white box next to the football fixtures for the next month and an advert for a scooter taxi service. The white box only accepts pounds. The white box dispenses his ticket to getting his end away.

Tickler condoms.

How could he possibly go wrong?

Or, better still, the white box contains Smint Mints. In this case, he's struck gold!

If both exist, he's over the moon. With the spending of just two pounds, he's covered the need for flavoured enjoyment in both areas.

Or then again, perhaps his mistress will see what he's just purchased, and can't believe he's been so cheeky to believe that covering his cider breath with a curious mint-smelling odour whilst clumsily tucking away his chocolate black-ribbed knobbler that he optimistically believes will cover his inevitable Brewer's Droop will permit entry to the hanger, so to speak.

Why not just do away with them while they're only distasteful and before they're just plain disgraceful?

Star wars race confusion

I'm fully aware that it's incredibly easy to get races confused within the realm of Star Wars. However, in the case of mixing a Jawa with Jabba is not entirely forgiveable. But this is.

In case you were unaware, Lando Calrissian is a gentlemen who appears to be of African-American origin, although obviously he can't be because this is Star Wars and we're in a Galaxy far far away.

His name was well researched by myself, because nobody in the office one day could think of it.

One day, the question sprung up in conversation as random things generally do in my office.

It was driving me insane. It turned into one of those mutant questions that grows and grows until it's eating the entire left hemisphere of your brain.

In our office we have at least one 'quote of the week'. The recipient of the award usually goes to one of three people, and this week it was Jim.

Brian: Jim, what's the name of that black bloke in Star Wars?

Jim: What, Darth Vader?