It's Like Living In An H.R. Giger Painting

If I had a dollar for every time I've thought, "It's like 'special school' in here," I'd have $147. Almost enough for a term pass on the Sunnyfield bus.


I had the following exchange with my South American this week, when I politely asked,


"What the hell is wrong with you?"


"Well. Basigally. I thing dere is soomthing going wrong with my ear, here on diz side of my head."


"Are you getting an ear infection? I said, ARE YOU GETTING... oh never mind."

"Jez, maybe I will be in lade for worg tomorrow. If id is nod eny bedder, I will go to the dogtor."


"How about, you go to the doctor right after work this afternoon?"


"Jez,  I cood do that."


Next Day.


"How's your ear?"


"Well. Basigally, I pood a candle in id and id feels a lod bedder."


"Let me get this straight. You had a slight pain in your aural canal, and your response was to set fire to your head."


"Jez. Basigally."


(For the record, 'ear candling' is as large a load of crap as homeopathy and reiki.)


And while I'm on the subject of crap, I was hunkering down to my second delicious egg and bacon roll with The Family Gag Reflex the other day, when the subject of dogs eating poo came up. (It was happening within sight of us and couldn't be avoided.) Mama Gag Reflex said, "Our previous one used to eat her own."


Now, leaving the gut-churning revoltingness of this to one side, surely that's a self sustaining unit, right? Surely that's an animal that only has to be fed once? Have I discovered the holy grail of perpetual motion?