Nuff of that.

 

I must be nice - all the bite-y stingy things in the garden yesterday had a go at me while i was harvesting the blackcurrant crop.  My left forearm looks like Popeye's. The only remedy is to have a large glass of something iced ( and preferably alcoholic) to hold against it - the ice to cool my throbbing arm and the alcohol to numb the brain.

You should consider using something repellent ..... like me! Why don't you knit yourself a vilejelly suit for those nasty jobs. Or at least disguise yourself as a giant bumblebee so you blend in with the rest of the buzzy, stingy thingies.

 

Tried picking blackcurrants (commercially) once. Worst job I ever had. You got paid by the tray and have you any idea how many blackcurrants you need to pick to fill eight punnets in one of those? I think I was earning an average of 0.017p per hour!

 

PS. Did the alcohol work or is your head as well as your arm throbbing now?

What  great ideas - might have to do a bit of research to find out the most beneficial in different environments.

 

So better paid than cheffing then?  It took me about 2 hours to pick about 10 lbs. Then I had to process them, yuk.

 

PS Don't know, can't feel a thing.

Well, I know you can get the bumblebee suits from Pool market (no doubt via the Cornish Pig's Trotters Trading Co. hem, hem). I'm not sure if there are any nearer outlets.

 

Everything is better paid (by the pound of flesh) than cheffing. I'll never understand why people who dine out generously tip the waiters who do the tricksy carrying the food from A to B and not the people who actually cooked what they're eating. I've seen waiters and bar staff make more in tips in one night of standing around than I've earned in the last two days of blue-arsed flying. Rather confirms my theory of the complete worthlessness of the human species!

 

PS. Any sign of the feeling coming back (or the supply of anaesthetic running out)?

Bee that as it may - do they do my size?  Would that bee from the back of a Reliant Chough?  Any old excuse to head SW.

 

PS What feeling would that be?  Not running out - just not being applied. 

I'd have thort so. They are made for rugger buggers, some of which are known to be of a moderately largish nature. Given the scabrous, scavenging nature of such traders probably a Reliant Seagull.

 

Have you started feeling anything with it? Like BM? Better leg it to the offy and get a repeat prescription then!

Yes, I hadn't (recently) thort about them - its all that lycra turns a girl's head.

 

With what? What I get up to in the privacy of my own home is not your concern!

Lycra? That's for pooves. I don't hold with all this modern spray-on kit. Proper traditional ruggerby shirts are the order of the day. Especially for Cornish bumblebee suits as they have only just introduced the spinning wheel down here.

 

No, no. I am not remotely interested in what you do in privet (or in the house). I just meant that rather than trying to feel small fiddly things first up you should start with something large and easily identifiable (like BM) and then work your way up to smaller objects.

You're looking in the wrong place. For some of us it's 'Saturday afternoon after a very hard week at the coalface'.

 

I'm quite tiddly ..... and possibly other adjectives ending in -iddly! And do you know what? Unlike Messrs Hoover, Aswan and Amster ..... I don't .....

You can't have it both ways..........well, OK, you can...... either you're a big blobby jelly-thing, or you're tiddly.  I'm afraid after 1 days holiday my brain is on (more of) a go-slow  (than usual) - I can't think of any other words with an -iddly suffix. Yesterday and today was (is) the Lowestoft Airshow.  Wednesday was bad enough with various pilots practising.  I can't stand the noise, smell, crowds and sheer waste of money.  There, that's my grump out of the way.  All was peace and quiet here.  The wind must have been in the wrong direction for them to have to fly over this bit of the Waveney valley en route to their viscous airstrips.

 

I'm off to the badlands today, thence EVEN further north to Yorkshire to visit No. 2 sprog.

 

Gill's Paul must have impecable good taste - first to choose Gill, then to say you're a good bloke!  We can't all be wrong.

Fiddly? Piddly? Squiddly? Bo Diddly?

 

At least you can console yourself with the thought that they are all about to be sold off by Geoff 'Buff' Hoon to some tinpot dictator. Next year the RAF will have to use paper airplanes made from their Whitehall Memoranda Mountain.

 

Not only the sprouts but the 'Y' word as well. You must have been very evil in your previous life to have deserved such a fate!

 

Maybe. But you might just be winding me up. Doing a sort of emperor's new clothes gag on me, so that I burst into the pub (or wherever) convinced that I am wonderful only to be greeted by the crushing humiliation of public derision. I asked the RT for their opinion but they said that they'd require at least another dozen drinks before they would even contemplate contemplating me! So, we're off to the pub (via the cash machine) to commence the project.