Interesting things found in the Thames today

- A whoopee cushion
- A badminton racquet
- A ping-pong ball with the number 13 on it (kept by me as believed to be lucky)
- A toy car
- A dog's toy
- A sheriff's badge

Camel's Toe volunteered with Thames21, "London's leading waterways charity working with communities to transform neglected and littered rivers".

www.Thames21.org.uk

The Skull

I have a friend called The Skull. All there is of him is a head – in the form of a bare skull, hence the name. Hes white, as skulls tend to be, and he is plastic. He comes from a pound shop in Sydenham. He had a body once but it got lost.  He has a moveable jaw. Another thing about The Skull – he has made me jump a few times in the night because he glows in the dark. I forget he is there. He doesn’t do much day to day. But before I go to sleep I like to scan my room for intruders. Yes, I know this is absurd. But its no more absurd than when you’re watching Jaws and you make sure your foot isn’t hanging off of the sofa in case the shark comes. I just  like to check my room for anything amiss and I feel a pang when I see a little glow in the corner. Ah, its just The Skull.

Anyway, I got a bit irritated with The Skull after a while. As I said, day to day, he does very little so I started to wonder exactly what he was bringing to the table. Lets say we had words about the lack of skeletal contributions to the council tax bill and the tendency of his to eat the last onion (he eats it like an apple) just as I was planning to cook myself a tasty pile of pasta. So I though, sod him, and I threw him away.

I was raged

I threw him down

I put him in the bin

Its time to cull

That sorry skull

That cranium of sin.

So my bony friend took a trip to the town dump. When The Skull found himself sharing a dwelling with 6,000 used sanitary towels and 1,000 copies of undelivered News Shoppers, he cried and cried. He vowed to change his ways; he looked heaven-wards and prayed for redemption. And we must share a connection hitherto unaccounted for, me and The Skull because I quickly came to regret my impulsive actions. I soon came to miss the thrill of his little head, glowing away in an alcove and making me think twice at bedtime.

I took off for the local waste disposal site and set to work. Hours passed and I remained empty-handed. I would not leave as such, I told myself. I would find The Skull.

Night fell and I continued my quest. And, oh, luck was with me for there was The Skull! There he was! On a pile of rubbish, glowing in the dark as he knows how to. And I ran to him. I scooped up that cranium and placed him in my pocket.

I was enraged

I shot you down

I chucked you right away

I dumped you Skull

But life was dull

I’m glad you’re back today

Pub quiz - our team's constantly-evolving name inspired by Joe

1. We have shut down.

2. Joe's bowel should shut down along with the connections round.

3. Joe's bowel is a maniac and should shut down.

4. Joe's boule is a maniac and should be shut down with immediate effect along with the animal round. (Not used yet, to be used next time. Copyrighted, do not steal)

Pussycat Dolls

When I grow up I wanna be famous I wanna be a star I wanna be in movies. When I grow up I wanna see the world drive nice cars I wanna have boobies.

This lyric, misheard maybe, got me thinking about the clothes shop Tammy Girl in Bromley. Tammy Girl was the teenage part of Etam. Etam was a bit like New Look, before that store got ideas above its station. You’d kind of be embarrassed to go in Etam, or its younger sibling for that matter. The name Tammy was unbearably 80s and the time I’m talking about would be 1989 and we were ready to lose the 1980s once and for all.

But there was one draw for me: Tammy Girl sold bras in 28AAA. And practically nowhere else did. So down the narrow staircase I would sneak, grimacing with envy at the white-toothed teenage girls beaming at me from the posters in the stairwell.  Teenage girls who were perfect; unsullied by spots, greasy locks or PMT.  Straight to the back and right there, there was the display of 28AAA bras. One contraption – scandalously- sported pink spots. Oh, how I wanted that one. 13 years old and with about £1 a week pocket money to my name. Not happening.

Now, of course, I ask myself why 28AAA bras weren’t widely available. Actually, I don’t even need to ask why. Its because they are pointless. They are just paying lip-service to a dream. “If I get one, maybe it will encourage growth?” The old joke from teenaged boys - “would you wear a hat if you didn’t have a head? No, then why would you wear a bra?” If my Dad, who always likes to save a few pennies, had known about my plans he would have suggested two plasters. Used probably. Obviously he wouldn’t have been consulted due to this being “women’s stuff”.

But what all this came down to was this: THE SCHOOL SHIRT WAS SEE-THROUGH. And I’m not wearing a VEST like a baby!!! I wanna be a WOMAN. “Be careful what you wish for cos you just might get it” says Pussycat Nicole Scherzinger, later on, in the song quoted above. Everyone gets ‘ it’ eventually. And she didn’t really say “boobies”. Well not out loud. I think she DOES say boobies, really. But only unofficially. Truthfully, she says groupies. But who wants groupies? If you’re a girl band, they’re all gonna be stalkers. But boobies…rewinding to me at 13 and taking a scan of my brain…”hoping I get boobs soon.” ”Has so and so started yet and when am I going to and I hope I’m not the only one who hasn’t.” “Am I interested in boys yet?I should be” “Don’t tell anyone but I was playing with my neighbour’s Sindy dolls the other night” “I think the cat has got worms”.

So, back to the 28AAA bra. I never got it. I would suspect that puberty is such a fast-moving beast that by the time the pennies were saved for that one I would – oh joys- have already been ineligible for that “stupid, small thing”. And probably too busy obsessing over another “stupid, small thing” (my first boyfriend) to care.

Further to our previous letter - deaths abroad

Dear colleague. You have received our memo about dealing with deaths abroad. You would have found attached a standard letter to issue in the case of a death abroad. Regrettably, that letter is to be withdrawn due to it potentially causing offence to the recipient. Please use the link to find the new, approved letter to send if these circumstances arise. Please note the space to include a reference to a romantic partner. It is felt that this will personalise the letter somewhat more than previously.

Dear Mrs ******
It is with trepidation that I pass on the sad news that dear Alexandra expired yesterday. It seems our cherished Alexandra was unfortunate enough to be caught in a volcanic eruption. She was never one for a volcano which makes this all the more tragic. I am pleased to relay that at the time she was partying with Donald Duck; they were very much in love. I hope that alleviates the pain somewhat.
Yours...

Standard letter for a death abroad

Dear colleague. please find this standard letter to issue in the case of a death abroad. Please fill in the blanks with the name of the unfortunate party. Please detach this advice from the body of the letter to avoid causing offence.

Dear Mrs ******
I am terribly afraid to tell you that the great Naomi is no more. We all knew she was never one for speaking much and she was always reluctant to eat more than a morsel. So it seems tragic that that her demise should have happened thus: she was feasting upon a single caper and, rarely for her, voicing an opinion on the price of fish. All of a sudden, a cockerel crowed louder than Vesuvius' eruption. Dear Naomi choked on her caper and was lost from us for good.
Yours..

Unrealistic socks

 I’ve got these socks and its cats with collars on

And these are premium cats

FELINEZ

Its not like I’ve got socks with some demented old mog on

No rabies, tapeworm and no fleas

A sock like that would be shut down straight away

These socks encourage class divide

Its like, woman, girl and lady

People will say “how can you read that into a sock?”

You think too much

But these socks are aspirational

I DON’T FEEL THESE SOCKS REFLECT THE REALITY OF CATS

(And the cats say:

YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT US.)

Nicknames and the demise of Basil the cat

A lot of workplaces outlaw nicknames due to undertones of bullying. But I don’t really bother to nickname someone I don’t like. Basil was our cat and he had loads of nicknames.

BATHTULLE BANGUL BAKSULLE BANDOOL

A nickname can certainly be a term of endearment. The more you have the more loved you are. Thinking all of this makes me feel less guilty about what happened to him.

His inky black fur is dull with grease

His eyes are urine

His tail is accusing

His tongue is rasping

His ham oozing

We wanted a cat and we got that

I’d look at his tongue and wonder if anyone had ever cooked a cat’s tongue and if so what would it be like?

(A cat’s ham, by the way, is their bum. It does rather look like a slice of luncheon meat, doesn’t it? Don’t pretend you have never looked.)

Basil lived at an address in Adelaide Avenue with us. Adelaide Avenue is in a part of Lewisham called Ladywell. It still tickles me to think of how Nigerian taxi-drivers often pronounced the road “Adiladi”. As if it was a place in Nigeria rather than, presumably, one in Australia that I’d only ever heard of due to watching  Neighbours avidly as a schoolgirl - on at just after half past five every weekday evening. I am also rather amused by my workmate’s joke, made the other day, that he’d like to go inside a lady’s well. I bet he would. I doubt he would ever be seen again either if he managed it. A bit like Basil, who this story is really about.

Anyway,  I don’t know who Basil was mixing with but one day he turned up at the back door with a bullet in his head.  Being a cat, this is what they do, he went and hid and by the time he'd decided to come for help he was deranged and had a brain full of maggots. Someone shot our cat with an air rifle and Basil shut down.We were all up for writing to the local paper to complain but, of course, we forgot about that after the initial surge of righteousness. Hes not buried in Ladywell cemetery in case you were thinking about that. Hes a cat, why would that be allowed? But, somehow, whenever I pass by that place, the graveyard, on a bus I think I would not be at all surprised to see Basil walking in there.

Spider with four legs

This spider walks on just four legs

What a sight to see

Hes on his side

Four legs up high

Hes saving energy

This spider has the full eight legs

As all such creatures do

But hes on just four

I’ll tell you more

Hes trying something new

This spider uses just four legs

But what he doesn’t see

The unused limbs

Becoming thin

The used ones muscly

This spider using just four legs

For everyone to see

Its all gone wrong

Four are too strong

He can’t walk normally

This spider walks on just four legs

Now has four thin four fat

4 big muscles nice and thick

4 incredibly weedy sticks

He falls down and lies flat

This spider he of just four legs

He just sat down and  cried

He can’t balance

He has no chance

“I wish I’d never tried”

Blackavar

Blackavar you and I could be lovers

If I were a rabbit for I’d rather

Be me a rabbit than you a human

Too much competition from other girls

I love your mind

Your tragedy

Blackavar 

He is bruised and scarred

Valour still leaps within him

Not many people know about thee

So I would stand a chance

Blackavar

Talk to me, tell me about your life

How your ears were torn to shreds

Of your mangled countenance

All in your Effrafan accent.

Sell-by dates

These are my thoughts on eating something that is out of date.

Pretend you don't know what date it is today.

Eat the item if it smells normal.

But keep the packet so you can sue the a*se off them later if you die.

Bee

A hot day in July

Everyone has run for cover

A bee is on my wall, unwell

I cannot leave for work and come back and find that bee dead.

It looks drunk

Its eyes are glazed, its speech is slurred, it is unsteady on its feet

“Constable, I’m not under the influence of any intoxicant. I am a bee and I don’t know what to do”

I gave that poor critter a bit of honey

I saw its tongue come out like a straw

The bee is gone when I get home later

Area Search No Trace

So it lives somewhere else

It is alive

Fox at Beckenham Junction

Foxy Foxington Foxtrel

Hes walking alongside me like a pet

Wily, sly and purposeful

My pointed little foxette

Foxbury Foxipuss My fox

Hes waiting patiently at the door

Cunning, mean, hes resting

But ready to show his claw

Foxley Fox-oh  Foxxe

I’ve left you some apples under a tree

Greedy, bloodthirsty, hes living

Please take these fruits from me

Foxorama Fox Bonanza  Le Renard

Hes sniffing around on the prowl

A burglar, a crook, I’m  just waiting for someone officer

Fox is on the run now

…

A train came he could have run

He looks whole

His belly full

His paws are poised

YES HE IS ASLEEP

Someone threw an empty vodka bottle on him

A memorial or a joke?

He was still lying there the next day

Sunlight on his fur in the gloom of the railway tunnel

Eating a pizza in bed for breakfast

I ate a pizza in bed for breakfast

And I was pleased

I ate my pizza at breakfast time whilst sat in my bed

And I thought sod everyone

You are not really meant to eat pizza anyway

And certainly not in bed

And definitely not for breakfast

How dare you

I did it anyway

I burnt my mouth on the cheese

The next day unseen blisters danced with my tongue

Reminding me of my awful deed

That dastardly thing – but it was fun

 I ate a pizza in bed for breakfast

And didn’t care about anyone

Duvet days or how to look ten years younger

Dear Small love Smug guess what, downstairs have started hoovering the garden. Actually, it’s a static hoover. Its on but its not moving. Is that dangerous? It sounds frantic. I am now fixated on this hoover and cannot have a duvet day because I am AWAKE.

Dear Small love Smug I do not feel guilty. I scheduled this duvet day and I’m going to take it.

Dear Small love Smug I did fall back to sleep ‘cos I had a dream that I set up a shower in the bedroom and water was going in all the sockets. There was about to be a fire and then I woke up.

Dear Small love Smug that hoover thing,  that was just me being crazy. I know someone was mowing the lawn, okay? Duvet days make for good accounting. I’m banking these hours for when I have kids and theres no slumber to be had. But will that make it HARDER to adapt? Am I embracing it TOO much? Let me know.

Dear Smug love Small you are wasting the day.

But Small, it is raining.

Never mind that Smug, you won’t sleep tonight ‘cos you got up late. And there where will we be?

Dear Small love Smug sod you.

….

Dear Small love Smug I am up now and straight to the mirror. I look ten years younger. Have that. I may pull today.

Text message received

Text received from friend: “Miss XYZ who we went to school with had a boy and called him Zack. What a cliche”

My reply: “Hopefully its eyes aren’t too close together like hers.”

Oh dear. I don’t know whats worse. Not being overjoyed at yet another planet earth birth. Associating with a fellow scorn-pouring cynic (criticising a parent’s choice of name for their sprog  is just beyond the pale) or referring to the child as ‘it’.

I hated XYZ at school. Not ‘cos of the eyes. If she weren’t so insincere I’d never have given the eyes a second look (ha).

I couldn’t give a hang about piggy eyes or her child. I like the phrase “couldn’t give a hang”. What is “a hang”? A nice way of saying the f word I think; a Blyton saying maybe? Now, I don’t wish harm to anyone. I love children. I wish all the children in the world, black and white, could come together and make a Coke advert.

Truth be told. I like some people. So, by extension, I think their kids (present and future) are ace.  If I don’t know you, all options are open. I’m down with random nippers on the bus – they will usually get a grin from me. But if I already had the chance to know you and I don’t like you, I certainly don’t give a hang about someone you’ve had the misfortune to produce who is 50% you.

I will have a little peek on Facebook later, if her page is visible, just check its eyes.

Camel’s Toe is truly happy being single – she just needs a little convincing.

Sometimes it seems to me that my friends’ desires for me to find Mr Right FAR outstrip mine. And just saying this makes me feel like a very naughty dromedary indeed.

I’ve always had issues with eggs (no not THOSE eggs. Not ovaries. No corpus luteums if you please. I mean DAIRY eggs). Another time perhaps I’ll explore this issue I have. But, for now, I’ve a little story from back in the day at primary skool. Until the day in question I’d never eaten an egg sandwich, never expressed any interest whatsoever in such a snack. Had always found them truly wrong. And 'cos  I’m a bit of an opinionated so&so everyone knows this.  On that morning, an egg sandwich rocked up in my lunchbox, hiding with the 54321, the carton of OJ and the bag of Sainsburys PLAIN (pooh!) crisps.  Being a brave soul obviously in dire need of Omega 123456 and 7, I took a bite. And I’m not a drama queen but I threw up that sorry sanger all over my classmate’s foot and got sent home. There, I told you I didn’t like egg sandwiches. Perhaps you didn’t believe me but there it is. Don’t ever mention them again. And all you single ladies who feel the pressure will, I think, know what I am saying. Even if I'm talking here about egg sandwiches, you know what I'm getting at..

My well-meaning and adorable friends’ enquiries and attempts to avail me of my tragic singledom trigger in me a similarly infantile response – “AAAAARGH.”  I want to stamp my feet but I’ve got a dodgy toenail (acquired of course during one of my soulless and possibly suicidal nights in alone with nowt better to do than settle down with a nice bottle of acetone and a pair of nail clippers from the pound shop).

Over to you amigas:

“You’re too picky. “ Right so YOU’D go out with someone who looks like they’ve been in-bred with one of Borat’s sisters?

“You really ought to advertise yourself on a dating site.” Been there mate. Oh I’ve been THERE. (Another time readers, another time.)

“Heres my mate’s husband’s mate – you’ll like him.” Met him. Er, friend whose friend’s husband’s friend is pretty awful....note to you. You’ve known me over 10 years and this monstrosity is what you’d choose for me? Thanks buster!

My favourite – “I can’t believe you are still single.”  I bet you get this this all the time too. As in “I can’t believe you are still waiting for the 208 bus. You should have got the 61 and changed six times” But I say, “if I wait, the 208 will come eventually. While I’m waiting, I’ll read the back of a receipt or something but I still would rather catch THAT bus.” (Unless 208s have been discontinued and I’m the last to know. Aah they haven’t ‘cos one just went the other way (which means that one is soon to come this way doesn’t it!!??)).

Is it okay to say I am STILL SINGLE because I (gasp!) just haven’t met the right one FOR ME? Are there really women out there who are that superficial that they make lists and reject anyone who doesn’t conform? Its their bloody fault they are single.  Well, yes. I have a list. Not much on it to be honest – its succinct. Another analogy (I like these). I go to the supermarket to do my shop and I have my list. Most of what is on my list I will get. One or two things won’t be in stock. And no doubt I’ll sneakily pick up a few things I hadn’t planned for. Crisps don’t make the list. That’s in case I die on the way there and, as well as having on a pair of pants which date from 1995 I have crisps on my shopping list so therefore I’m a total wanton disgrace.  I can compromise on potato cakes (irritatingly out of stock in both Tesco AND Waitrose) but there really is no alternative to milk. Whitener just aint happening. You get my drift? Well, my man list works just like that. Hair colour – whatever (in fact, hair, whatever).  A few extra pounds? Who cares. No personality? No date. Wanna get a bit abusive? 999s the number for you.  You lika the Columbian powder? Me no lika you. (I’m enjoying this bit.)Still married? Come back when you’re divorced. In fact, don’t bother.

Its not that I need validating. I think I just need SUPPORT. I do 90% believe in what I’m saying, I just need that little extra push to say “you’re doing the right thing. Its okay not to be desperate.” Look,  I have absolutely no control over some things in my life. And I still hold onto the idea of fate, meeting someone, getting to like them and going from there. When you try to control, you feel the mercury rising, it all gets frantic and, yep, you make BAD decisions.

What we non-desperate single ladies need are a few WISE HAPPILY ATTACHED PEOPLE (WHAPs) to keep our feet on the ground.  There aren’t that many of these around. Try to find one. That’s your role model. When my mate who thinks her husband smells awful and no she can't bear to look at his winkle tries to give me advice about what I should want it just doesn’t have any credibility. When my pal who just spent an hour moaning about how her husband criticises everything she does then attempts to help me with my single status I go into sleep mode. But when I was trying to convince myself that I should really TRY to like Mr OH HES SO NICE AND SO INTO ME BUT HES A BIT CAMP one of these WHAPs said something that hit me - “if you don’t fancy him its game over.” And it is isn’t it. And I don’t even need convincing of that.