Schrödingerâs cock.
Pappy Plopper and the Chamber of Doom
So one of the middle class requirements that we had when we moved was the new pad had to have at least two crappers. Our house just about qualifies. We have an under-the-stairs arrangement, not unlike Harry Potterâs sleeping arrangements at the Dudleyâs house, except with a lot more shit going on.
Much as any plane the US President is in becomes Air Force One, anyone that uses that toilet is, for the time, known as Harry Plopper.
Until recently, that is.
Recently, Gingora has decided to use this area as a staging ground for what I can only describe as attempts to give me a premature heart attack NOT brought on by my own poor decisions and self indulgence.
She lurks. She sits. She waits.
And then, just as Iâm about to enter the kitchen, she jumps out of the under-stairs loo and shouts
RAARGH!
She has done this with such frequency that I have to say that Iâve changed both my behaviour and my language.
I wish I could say that this activity was confined to one room, but it isnât always so. Sometimes she will hide in the front room instead, or the generous parlour room.
Itâs a simple version of Cluedo in many ways. I walk downstairs and think:-
Iâm going to get raarghed by a ginger ninja in at least one of these rooms.
Thatâs one change to my language.
Iâve resorted to sneaking around my gaff like Solid fucking Snake for the simple act of getting a hot beverage.
The other change to my language is that weâve dropped the Harry Plopper designation for that toilet.
It is simply known as the Raargh chamber.
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For some obscure reason this post just reminded me of the horror of being 6ft tall and needing a piss on a Concorde flight.
Still have problems to this day with my back needing to have bent in half due to the curvature of the aircraft
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NumptyâŠyou should have done a girly sit down.
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Did you Phil the cubicle?
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Wasnt an option didnt bend in half in those days!
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Iâve got my first new student in a while. It is a productive relationship except for one thing. He is American and cannot understand my Hampshire hog accent so gets Teams to put up live captions.
Like they had to do with Trainspotting.
The shame is unbearable and we both bear it.
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The girls are on Slimming World which means I am de facto Slimming World.
I think I have the better deal. Yes, I have to participate in all the bland crap theyâre eating, but I can snaffle a sausage roll, donât have to go to meetings, donât have to get weighed and most importantly, I am not obsessed with the weight of my own shits.
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Eh? 
I think that happens when you donât give one.
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On the day of weighing, you hear a lot of stuff about peoplr not being able to poo and how much a complete jettison of such might weigh.
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This can be fun from time to time. I once did a one and a half pounder 
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Itâs like dropping a Dreadnought- your core body temperature drops because of the lost heat and you have to go and put on a jumper to keep warmâŠ.
I concur. When I went through the lose 25.9kg game (before Covid made me a sofa slob again) the whole starting on the journey involved all types of tricks to ensure a proper actual dump BEFORE weighing time.
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At one point I didnât know if I was pushing it down or it was pushing me up 
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Dear diary,
Yesterday I wrote out a cheque for the first time in many years. First of all I had to find my cheque book to see if I had any left. Luckily there were a few unused so I wrote out the thing, searched for an envelope and a postage stamp and sent it off, as requested. The lady had insisted it was her preferred method of payment.
That got me thinking, when was the last time Iâd written a cheque. It appears it was at a time when banks used to return your cheques for your personal accounting.
Here it isâŠ
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