Wednesday, 23 July 2014

Mathematical genius

Didn't I always say that Carol Vorderman had a great arse? Well if I didn't, I aways thought it under my breath.

Well she has just pipped some young X-Factor starlet to the post in the arse-stakes to scoop the much-coveted 'Best Arse on T.V.' award, and apparently it's not for the first time. She's not just a pretty face.

Maybe my thoughts are turning to this sort of thing because of the weather, which has settled into a very Mediterranean coastal pattern of a stiff and refreshing, incoming breeze in the morning, and an outgoing one in the evening, or maybe it's simply because I really have turned into the filthy old pervert of John's lurid imagination.

Talking of stiff and refreshing, I counteract the day's sweat-drenched activity of my job with an almost deserved couple of cold beers in the late afternoon, but since I do this right through the Winter as well, I  can only describe it as 'almost' deserved.

I'm off to select yet more white marble today, and tomorrow I am going to view some antiques in a yard in Dorset. Both these trips will be in the Volvo, which will have the windows right down the whole way, because the air-con gave up on the old bus years before I bought it.

This plays havoc with my coiffure, but I have never been a slave to fashion, which is why I have never, ever, taken an undignified tumble on the cat-walk. When your whole life is as undignified as mine, you don't need to stand on a dais in front of the world's media to prove it.

About two months ago, I was idling in some traffic in the Volvo and happened to glance at the odometer (this is the 'mile-ometer', and not an onboard device which tells you the state of your armpits in the cramped confines of the cockpit), and saw it read 1260020.

I thought at the time that this was not a great deal of miles for a car as old as mine - I have friends with the same age Volvos, and they have over 250000 on theirs.

Then yesterday, I was idling in some slow-moving traffic again and gave the odometer another glance. It read 1260020. I set the trip to all the zeros and continued for another three miles. They remained at all the zeros and the main meter still read 1260020... You don't have to be Carol Vordeman to calculate this little anomaly.

Unless I run this car into the ground as I have all the others, I might be faced with a moral dilemma when it comes time to sell.


  1. Old Volvos never die -- of their own accord. They actually have to be put to death!

    Did you know Carol Vordeman is going to fly solo around the world? Needless to say, it is not necessary to add that she will be in a plane!

  2. Two observations on this:
    Lugging marble about on hot days is a no-no.
    I have never understood why men are fascinated by womens' arses.

    1. At your age, it would take too long to explain, but I will try if you REALLY want me to.

  3. If after a Million miles it's only the clock that's bust, you're doing well.

    1. I walked a million miles for one of my Mom's smiles, but that was bust also. I should never have blacked-up.

  4. O.k., I'm going to stick my neck out there.

    Not being of 'the realm' I have no idea who Carol Vorderman is. I, therefore, lack all admiration for her. What I see is a woman (possibly wearing butt-lifting underwear) with hooker shoes holding on to a very large phallus symbol.

    Feel free to comment. Rachel? Sigmund Freud? Anyone?

    1. Since nobody else wants to comment, I'll have to.

      I only just know who she is because I don't watch T.V. but I have seen a couple of episodes where she juggles numbers in a highly efficient way for a mathematical based quiz show. That's it really. The arse is a side-line.

      As for your interpretation of her general style, I could not comment, not having visited a hooker recently.

    2. I would sooner discuss the Volvo than Carol Vorderman's arse but I couldn't be bothered to do that either.