Real men wear pink.
Surreal men fill the bath with brightly-coloured machine tools.

I'm sure there's a medium-format joke somewhere that would involve me banging on about how all Americans bear collective responsibility for the crazed actions of a small number of so-called 'science fiction' authors, some of whom I'm sure can write as well as their literary peers. It would probably also include a section on the irresponsibility of ( Read more... )

( Scrapheap Challengers colour section! 80s fashion crisis! Normal for Gloucestershire! )

My mother gave me a bag of sugar so I could take it back to the factory and complain, because it was full of strange lumps. Thus my companion and I steamed up to the works at Kidderminster and wandered about in search of the complaints department ( Read more... )

As you might imagine, I manage to use my Amazon wishlist in a manner which causes confusion and unexpected results ( Read more... )

No-one knows anything. It's all about muddling through and finger-in-air solutions to complex problems ( Read more... )

You can say what you like about the convenience of Google Maps/Streetmap/Favourite mapping tool here, but there's nothing like having the relevant OS Landranger to spread out and stare at. If only because of the contours and, hello, cyclist. And they've got the National Cycle Routes marked. They're on the Sustrans maps and the website, but not at a ( Read more... )

Urgle ( Read more... )