Sometimes there is an excuse

Watch out - Tit Monday's about!

Ah, Tit Monday. It's not that far off now, that glorious day when, heading into work on the bus, or walking to the Tube, or sitting on the train, you find yourself suddenly chirpier than you have been in months. You find yourself smiling at strangers again. There is a mild involuntary tumescence in your trousers that comes and goes throughout the morning with the comforting regularity of a heartbeat.

And then you get a text around lunchtime from a mate which says: "At
last, Tit Monday!" And you instantly understand why you are so happy. For Tit Monday is that special day in the year when, for the first time, the temperature rises above that magical point which causes girls getting dressed in the morning to decide to show a bit of skin.

After months of dull colours and chunky knit, the world's birds suddenly dive into last summer's wardrobe (they've not had chance to buy this season's stuff) and chuck it on without a thought. Your urban landscape is suddenly lightened with acres of naked arm and leg and, after many dark months of burrowing, breasts rising to the surface like moles at dusk.

Big breasts in white work shirts straining at the buttons. Small breasts braless in vest tops, the nipples frotted by ribby fabrics. Breasts in summer dresses bouncing in the distance so that they catch your eye before you even notice there is someone wearing them. Breasts nudging out from the crowd at traffic islands, quivering to cross the road...

And you know it is nearly summer. For previous generations, the arrival of spring was heralded by the sound of the first cuckoo. For us, it is Tit Monday.

Not that it always falls on a Monday. Like Easter, Tit Monday is a moveable feast. Last year it fell on a Friday. Friday 29 April, to be precise, when temperatures maxed out at 22.1C after nothing much above 16C all year. It last fell on a Monday in 2004, when temperatures leapt to 22C on 24
April.

And then, of course, there is Tit Monday Night. You see, in early summer, temperatures drop off very dramatically when night falls (Tit Friday 2005 dropped away to a parky 11.8C). But the dollies are not prepared. Slightly stunned by the morning heat, they drag out the summer clothes but forget to bring a cardie (a mistake they will not make again until next year), so that when they're all standing outside All Bar One after work celebrating the arrival of spring, their barely covered nipples have no protection from the cold. It's like a Bring-and-Buy sale where everyone has brought hat pegs. It's like a prog-rock gig where, instead of lighters, everyone is
holding up nipples.

So when will Tit Monday fall this year? Will you be the first to text your mates with the announcement? Do not shoot your bolt too early. There will be false starts. You will smell fresh cut grass and see a couple of early starters and feel compelled to declare Tit Monday. But your more level-headed friends will tell you to hold your horses, keep your powder dry, don't fire until you see the whites of their bra straps As the poet said: 'one bold Northern slapper in a bikini doth not a summer make'.

[Author unknown]

A few lovely ski photos

As during my final two years at university I have been deprived from the exotic lifestyle I normally demand due mainly to financial reasons I have been unable to go skiing since 2003. To make up for this alarming deficit I decided I deserved to go skiing twice this year.

I went to Val D'Isere in the French alps with 8 friends from university over New Year. I can't be bothered to describe it in much detail as it was 3 months ago but here is a quick itinerary of what we did:
Drove, sideways, at 50mph on a snow covered motorway with summer tyres (well when in Italy drive Italianly). Drank a lot. Became a year older. Skied a bit. Got stuck in a 10 hour traffic jam. Spent too much.
I will try and find some pics from this holiday to put up here at some point.

A month later it was time to go on holiday again. I set off with my friend from London, Richard, and we headed to Switzerland in the hope my Uncle and Aunty who live at the foot of a mountain would be glad to see us and offer us a roof to sleep under for a week. They were!

Other than there psychotic white cat Micky we had a super time. Below are some photos:


A view from the top of the 'Flumserberg'. We had wonderful blue skies for five out of the six days that we were there, so I developed a very sexy tan by the end.


Despite the lovely weather it was still VERY cold. Photo'd is me wearing 10 layers. Although I guess the photo doesn't really show that so you'll just have to take my word for it.


Richard on a black run on the third day. Not bad for a beginner. I guess it says more about my ability as an instructor than his as a skier but I wouldn't want to detract from his achievements!


My Uncle. Who whenever he came skiing with us insisted on a drinks break at 3pm sharp. After which he would promptly fall asleep in the sun while we tried our hand at some drunk skiing. Believe me the beer-snow-mobile is a whole level of trickyness above the novice beer-scooter.


Me. Again.

A perfect kitchen

Now this is my idea of what a good plummer should do.....

Clicky for a good story

British Bird Flu

This was too good for me not to put it up on the blog......



Words by Darth....

"I wish he would die,
of H 5 N I,
but he won't"

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Meanwhile on planet Nurton, a lot of exciting things have been happening. Maybe, just maybe I'll start blogging about them again. We'll see.