When something changes and people complain about how it’s not like it used to be. Well that’s the whole point about things changing!

What really annoys me is when people say that, and then say, “but it’s just my opinion.” What was the point in saying it in the first place?

I’ve just been reading Wikipedia’s article on Bananas. To those who say it is not a fruit, but a herb, I say, “Do your research before correcting people.” Of course bananas are fruits, they are the bits that contain the seeds.

The banana plant is a herb, not a tree — but the bit we eat is the fruit.

Happy Christmas if you already knew that. Not otherwise though. You’ve got to earn your happy Christmas on this site. (You can’t mess around where bananas are concerned.)

6:00 am: Wake up to Radio 4
6:01 am: Two fingers to the world, I’m not getting up til 9.

Mornings are a common theme in my blog posts I’ve noticed. This observation is easily explained. Simply, I hate mornings. More specifically, I hate getting out of bed.

I am completely puzzled as to why getting out of bed should be so unpleasant. Everything else that contributes to survival is pleasurable: eating, sleeping, being warm, etc. Surely waking up and getting on with the day is quite a large part of survival, so why should it be so horribly painful? Major design flaw in the human brain, I’m thinking.

The only thing that can make mornings more bearable, apart from the inspiration of the Spirit, is mango juice. Quick poem:

Mango juice

1. Tasty and delicious.
2. Fruity and nutritious.

Miss Marple is one of the best ever TV shows ever in the whole wide world, better even than the News. This was recently certified by the Queen in the Honours list, where for the first time in British history something that wasn’t a person was made an MBE. Miss Marple was written by Agatha Christie through strictly speaking, of course, it is more correct to say that it was written through Agatha Christie, since the whole thing is divinely inspired.

Throughout the 80s and early 90s, it made the move into television. Starring Joan Hickson, it went from strength to strength, purely because of the most incredible overacting on the part of the entire cast. Apart from the BBC adaptation of Jane Austen’s novel Pride and Prejudice, Miss Marple is the most overacted piece of television ever to be made. It has been demonstrated, scientifically, that overacting is the key to making dramas brilliant. As celebrity chef Gordon Ramsey says, “What is the point of subtlety when you can completely exaggerate something beyond all recognition until it approaches divinity. You know it’s true.”

His views can be proven scientifically, mathematically and biblically.

Overacting is the art of making mountains out of molehills. True overacting has the power to take fiction and make it into solid, hard fact. If you can really overact, with enough skill and precision, you can make Shakespeare’s plays into documentaries. But overacting can also be very dangerous. Overacting is now illegal in Japan after the terrible tragedies of 1993.

On December 12, 1993, three cinemas completely exploded when an experimental film was premiered. In keeping with the theme of pure exaggeration, the film had no title but was named with a scream. “We’re going to see AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHHH tonight, do you want to come?” It was directed by no fewer than 13 directors. The script called for 17 directors, but one of them spontaneously combusted when he finished reading the script, and the remaining three were annhilated upon contact — much like the reaction between matter and anti-matter.

You can read about this on Wikipedia.

Has anyone got any coffee they could send me. Just quickly, by email or something. Just really need coffee today. Thanks.

Many of you will have been asking yourselves, “What is Mark like as a tourist?” Well, my friends, today you can find the answer to that question.

Going through my spam folder, I found something left on a post I had entitled, “I do beg your pardon” in which I talked about my trip to Macchupicchu, in Peru. It was an amazing trip, and I loved travelling, every bit, even the bits I hated (such as violently throwing up every half hour on a mountain, while European tourists passed me on foot at 20 mph, in the middle of a cold and unrelenting night — all taking place under the darkest, most loveliest star-flecked sky I have ever seen, like velvet sprinkled with tiny diamonds).

The post in question is totally great. I barely talk about Macchupicchu at all. I moan about the food, the slowness of the internet and my annoyance at tourists. I also make many witty observations. I loved South America, I look back on it with very fond memories, and a sense of “How on earth did I manage to do that without dying.”

Go to it »