Me versus Needles and Haystacks

Like trying to find a needle in a haystack

I've always wanted to have a go at this one to try to disprove it. I knew my farmer friend Laurie (he helped me with the horses ones if you remember) would have haystacks at this time of year so got in touch.

I asked if he wouldn't mind putting a needle in one of his haystacks so I could come and look for it. Well, it turns out he did mind and he quite forcefully pointed out that if I didn't find the needle then one of his animals would when they were eating the hay and he wasn't having any of that. Like the needle, he had a point.

Being a helpful sort though Laurie offered to sell me a haystack. I agreed the price and arranged a delivery time. Haystacks are quite big aren't they? And modern gardens are quite small. Once the haystack had been fork-lifted over our fence there wasn't much garden left to look at.

Mrs MvC was unimpressed to say the least but I still managed to persuade her to hide a needle in the haystack. I spent most of the day looking for it but couldn't locate it. I gave up when the number of neighbours glowering at me complaining about the amount of hay drifting into their gardens became uncomfortably high.

Does anyone want to buy some hay? I'll throw in a needle for free.

Conclusion One: Looking for a needle in a haystack is nigh on impossible. Don't waste your time.

Conclusion Two: If you want a needle a sewing box is a better place to keep them.

Me versus Bacon

Bringing home the bacon
Saving your bacon

Before I get started I need to warn my vegetarian readers that I'm going to be mentioning bacon a lot in this post.

I like bacon and am familiar with the eating of it. Bacon joints, bacon burgers, lardons of bacon. All the bacon. I'm going to focus today though on the breakfast favourite, the rasher.

I live close to a convenience store so it was easy for me to walk over and buy a packet of eight (smoked) rashers. I strolled home with the bacon without incident. I wasn't accosted for the bacon, I didn't lose it or drop it down a storm drain or anything. I don't see what the fuss about bringing home the bacon is. Easy.

So, on to saving bacon. When I think of saving I think of my local branch of the world's biggest building society. I made my way there and joined the queue.

I reached the teller's window and exchanged pleasantries with the attentive employee. "I'd like to make a deposit please" I said, "Of course, sir" she replied. I slipped my bank book under the window (I'm a bit old-fashioned in the money department) shortly followed by the bacon.

There was a bit of a silence which was broken by the question "Do you want to pay some bacon into your account?" I said I did and although I realised that interest rates weren't very good at the moment, in three or four years I would probably have enough for an extra mouthful.

There was another silence and then the manager came and took me to her office and explained to me politely that it was the policy of the major financial institutions to only accept money on deposit, not pork products. She also explained that if I pulled a stunt like that again I would be doing my banking elsewhere. Suitably chastened, I left with my tail* between my legs.

I cheered up though in the knowledge that once again I was bringing home the bacon and once again managed that feat without incident.

I turned my attention to the saving of the bacon when I got back and felt I was only left with the bacon equivalent of hiding money under the mattress - the rashers were going in the fridge.

Over the next couple of days Mrs. MvC asked if I wanted bacon for breakfast and each time I replied that I was saving it. She soon got bored of this conversation and stopped asking after that.

So it was three weeks later when I went to retrieve the bacon for the making of a delicious sandwich that I found it was past its 'use by' date. I had to throw the bacon away. What a waste. What is the point of saving it? I should have eaten the bacon straight away.

Conclusion One: I strongly advise you to bring home the bacon. In no circumstances leave it outside or lose it.

Conclusion Two: Eat the bacon, don't save it. I can't stress that enough.

*This is a metaphorical tail. I don't possess an actual tail.

Me versus Grasping and Nettles

Grasp the nettle

Ah! A sunny weekend. It’s what outside was made for! But the downside is it means tidying the garden up and weeding.

As well as the ivy, which is always trying to make its way into the house, dandelions and nettles (among other things that I don’t know) that have sprung up need to go. The plus side is that I can test out this grasping the nettle business.

It seemed a simple process compared to some I've taken on. Find a nettle and grasp it. I picked out the tallest nettle, grabbed it down by the base and pulled. Then yelped.

Holy Moley did that ever sting! Why would anyone want to grasp a nettle, it’s just painful. It turns out that nettles are covered in stinging hairs which can "inject a chemical substance through the skin of an animal causing irritation or pain."

Why would you want to grasp anything that can do that. Dock leaves can only do so much to relieve the pain. I’m never grasping a nettle again.

Conclusion: If you really must grasp a nettle, wear gloves.

Me versus hatchets

Bury the hatchet

Before I start I need to point out that I'm doing this for research purposes and not because I've done anything bad with a hatchet that needs covering up. No sir.

My first problem was what exactly is a hatchet? Is it another name for an axe or something different altogether? I put 'hatchet' in the search box of a well-known DIY website and got no results. 'Did you mean rachet, thatcher, sachet?" No I didn't.

Turns out that a hatchet is a type of axe - a small, light one designed for use in one hand specifically while camping or travelling.

With that established I put on my disguise and went to a not-too-local hardware store and bought a hatchet with cash.

Burying it was the easy part. We only have a small garden so it was easy to lift a couple of patio slabs, dig down a bit, place the hatchet in the hole, cover it up and put the slabs back.

And here's where the problem with this starts. It seems a pretty silly place to leave a hatchet. You've got to go through all that rigmarole again to get the hatchet back if you need to do some more hatcheting.

If you've left it there a long time then there's a danger that the handle will rot or the blade rust. All in all rather a daft idea unless you're in the criminal fraternity.

Conclusion One: Buying a hatchet just to bury it is a waste of money

Conclusion Two: If you think you might need to use the hatchet again don't bury it. Keep it in a toolbox or somewhere handy like that.

Conclusion Three: If you are of the criminal fraternity then bury your hatchet further away from your house. The garden is the first place the police will look.

Me versus the Extra Mile

Go the extra mile

As I was driving into work today I decided to go the extra mile.

I got to where I would usually turn into work, checked the mile-ometer and carried on. One more mile took me into a cul-de sac on a housing estate.

After sitting there not doing much apart from listening to the radio for an hour I got a call on my mobile from my boss: “Is everything ok?” she said, “are you coming in today?”

I explained that I’d gone the extra mile and was in a housing estate and it was a bit rubbish because my desk and pc were nowhere to be seen. As this is a family blog I won’t repeat what she said but I was encouraged to give up on the extra mile and go into the office instead.

I tried again with the extra mile business on the way home. It’s quite inconvenient leaving your car that far from your house and walking back. Mrs MvC was worried too wondering why I was so late and where the car was.

I explained that I'd gone the extra mile and could she give me a lift to get the car back as I'd need it in the morning. I ended up walking.

Conclusion: Probably best to do the exact number of miles necessary.

Me versus barking and trees

You're barking up the wrong tree

Interesting one this - who decides which is the right tree? Or maybe you get a feeling for the rightfulness of the tree when you start barking at it? I needed to find out.

There are quite a lot of trees round where I work so as it was nice out at lunchtime I thought I'd go out and bark at a few. If you'd like to imagine what sort of bark it's more of a German Short-Haired Pointer than Yorkshire Terrier. Deeper rather than yappier.

Anyway, I found a tree, stood three feet or so away and barked. Nothing. I stood closer and barked, further away and barked. At no time did I feel that this was either the right or wrong tree. 

A tree of some sort

I went to a different tree and did the same. And another. Still no sense of rightness or wrongness. Perhaps I was barking at the wrong brand of tree so I went to find a different one. I'm not very good with trees but I know a silver birch when I see one. I barked at that and I barked at an apple tree but there wasn't any difference in how I felt. Nor did anyone tell me that I was right or wrong

After about 20 minutes and many trees I was getting hoarse and rapidly coming to the conclusion that there's no way you can tell which is the right tree or wrong tree to bark at so I wasn't too upset that the security guards came and moved me away from the trees.

Conclusion One: I don't care what you say, you can't tell which is the wrong (or right) tree.

Conclusion Two: Unless this is philosophical and no tree is the right tree and we are destined to search for a tree and never find it.

Conclusion Three: Perhaps dogs have some sort of right or wrong tree sixth sense. I shall investigate this dog notion further...

Me versus noses and faces

Cut off your nose to spite your face

Regular readers will be aware that I quite literally tackle these cliches for the benefit of mankind's knowledge but after the sword incident I am not going to cut my own nose off. 

But I won't let that stop me investigating this phrase for you dear reader(s), oh no. Let me introduce you to Tycho Brahe (1546-1601). Brahe, if you can't be bothered to click the Wikipedia link, was a 16th century Danish nobleman, astronomer and alchemist. 

'What's that got to with a nose?' I hear you cry, well I'll tell you. Brahe had it cut off in a duel in 1566.

Did he let this get him down? No. He had metal prosthetic ones made for him. They may have been silver, gold or copper (or brass) but let's retrace those steps a minute. He had a metal nose. Probably stuck on with glue. That would have broken the ice at parties. It's thought that he might have worn different noses for different occasions. How cool is that? 

Brahe went on to discover a supernova, map the heavens better than anyone before him, is awarded The Order of the Elephant, had eight children, became the imperial astronomer to the Holy Roman Emperor, owned possibly 1% of the entire wealth of Denmark and had an elk that died after falling downstairs when drunk.

Doesn't sound like his face was spited at all by the whole nose cutting-off incident.

Conclusion One: Look after your nose. You only get one - you don't want to lose it.

Conclusion Two: But if you are an in unfortunate nose off situation you might want to consider a metal one.

Conclusion Three: Try to keep your elk on the ground floor if you think it's had one too many.

Me versus pens and swords

The pen is mightier than the sword

This was a fairly simple one.

I stabbed myself in the back of the hand with a pen. It hurt a little bit.

I stabbed myself in the back of the hand with a sword. And now I'm typing this one-handed from hospital.

Conclusion: Pens are for writing, swords are for cutting, thrusting, slicing and stabbing. Don't confuse them.

Me versus Cocked Hats

Knock it into a cocked hat

My first thought before I tackled this one was 'what the heck is a cocked hat?' I turned to my old friend Wikipedia which informed that it's another name for a bicorne or, if you can't be bothered to click the link, is also known as 'that hat Napoleon used to wear'.

Rather than waste my money buying one I took a trip to the nearest fancy dress emporium and hired one. I realised afterwards that this limited me on what I could knock into it. If I wanted my deposit back then I certainly couldn't knock soup in it or mud or used tissues from my current bout of Australian Killer Flu.

The actual Napoleon in an actual hat

I discovered another problem when I got the hat home. It won't stand up on it's own. The crown of the hat is shaped so that the hat will, more often than not, topple over. I was going to have to lean the hat up against something before I could knock something in it.

Eventually I wedged it up against the desk and knocked a screwed up piece of paper in. It was disappointingly unsatisfying. I might as well have knocked something into a bin.

Conclusion One: If you want to knock something into a hat, use a more versatile one that you can place where you have things you might need knocking in. A boater perhaps.

Conclusion Two: Or buy a bin.