Christmas shopping

I came up with a brilliant strategy this week. As I hate fighting my way through supermarkets to do the Christmas food shopping and hate it with a passion, why not do it online, with the added bonus that we have now saved enough nectar points to cover it. One problem, you can't use nectar points at Sainsbury's for online food shopping.

So, on to plan B. I would do the shopping for non perishables in person and use the nectar card, leaving the perishables to be bought online.

This, of course, initiated a discussion with Keith about what should be on the list.

"Quality Street," he said. "No," I said, "too many calories."

"Those boxes of sugary orange and lemon slices," he said, undaunted. "How old are you?" I asked scathingly, "Also too many calories and too much sugar."

"Nuts!" he exclaimed.

"Well, you can have shelled nuts," I said, 

"Why not nuts in shells?"

"Because  I'm not spending all my time till mid February hoovering up bits of shell which have been catapulted all over the living room," I explained. I thought that was quite reasonable, really.

Keith, however, was disgusted.

"Looks like I shall have to drag my sore feet around Sainsbury's myself to make sure I get what I want," he said.

Result!

Subject: Teaching Maths in Britain

This came to me today from a friend.   Those of us who were educated in ante-diluvian times will recognise the downward trend and weep.  Enough said. Many a true word is spoken in jest!
1. Teaching Maths In 1970
A logger sells a truckload of timber for £100..
His cost of production is 4/5 of the price.
What is his profit?
2. Teaching Maths In 1980
A logger sells a truckload of timber for £100.
His cost of production is 80% of the price.
What is his profit?
3. Teaching Maths In 1990
A logger sells a truckload of timber for £100.
His cost of production is £80.
How much was his profit?
4. Teaching Maths In 2000 A logger sells a truckload of timber for £100.
His cost of production is £80 and his profit is £20.
Your assignment: Underline the number 20.5. Teaching Maths In 2005
A logger cuts down a beautiful forest because he is selfish and inconsiderate and cares nothing for the habitat of animals or the preservation of our woodlands.
Your assignment: Discuss how the birds and squirrels might feel as the logger cut down their homes just for a measly profit of £20.
6. Teaching Maths In 2009

A logger is arrested for trying to cut down a tree in case it may be offensive to Muslims or other religious groups not consulted in the application for the felling license. He is also fined a £100 as his chainsaw is in breach of Health and Safety legislation as it deemed too dangerous and could cut something. He has used the chainsaw for over 20 years without incident however he does not have the correct certificate of competence and is therefore considered to be a recidivist and habitual criminal. His DNA is sampled and his details circulated throughout all government agencies. He protests and is taken to court and fined another £100 because he is such an easy target.

When he is released he returns to find Gypsies have cut down half his wood to build a camp on his land. He tries to throw them off but is arrested, prosecuted for harassing an ethnic minority, imprisoned and fined a further £100. While he is in jail again the Gypsies cut down the rest of his wood and sell it on the black market for £100 cash. They also have a departure BBQ of squirrel and pheasant and leave behind several tonnes of rubbish and asbestos sheeting.

The forester on release is warned that failure to clear the fly tipped rubbish immediately at his own cost is an offence. He complains and is arrested for environmental pollution, breach of the peace and invoiced £12,000 plus VAT for safe disposal costs by a regulated government contractor.

Your assignment: How many times is the logger going to have to be arrested and fined before he realizes that he is never going to make £20 profit by hard work, give up, sign onto the dole and live off the state for the rest of his life?

7. Teaching Maths In 2010

A logger doesn’t sell a lorry load of timber because he can’t get a loan to buy a new lorry because his bank has spent all his and their money on a derivative of securitized debt related to sub-prime mortgages in Surrey and lost the lot, with only some government money left to pay a few million-pound bonuses to their senior directors and the traders who made the biggest losses.

The logger struggles to pay the £1,200 road tax on his old lorry. However, as it was built in the 1970s it no longer meets the emissions regulations and he is forced to scrap it.


Some Bulgarian loggers buy the lorry from the scrap merchant and put it back on the road. They undercut everyone on price for haulage and send their cash back home, while claiming unemployment for themselves and their relatives. If questioned they speak no English and it is easier to deport them at the governments expense. Following their holiday back home they return to the UK with different names and fresh girls and start again. The logger protests, is accused of being a bigoted racist and as his name is on the side of his old lorry he is forced to pay £1,500 registration fees as a gang master.

The Government borrows more money to pay more to the bankers as bonuses are not cheap. The parliamentarians feel they are missing out and claim the difference on expenses and allowances.
You do the maths.

8. Teaching Maths 2017
أالمسجلتبيعحمولهشاحنةمنالخشبمناجل 100 دولار. صاحبتكلفة الانتاج 80 م الثمن

Not in the genes

We were listening, early this morning, to Radio 4's Farming Today, where the focus was on sheepdogs, border collies in particular, some of which are apparently sold for around £2000. Keith pricked his ears up at this.
"Hmm, I wonder if we can train him," he said, indicating our own smart, pure bred border collie extremely average mongrel with a bit of border terrier in him.
"Border terriers, even proper ones, are not the same as border collies," I reminded him but, not to be deterred, he began trying to put Paddy through his paces.
"Come by!"
Paddy put his head up to be stroked and wagged his tail as Keith tutted in disgust.
Bearing in mind that I don't generally let him off his lead when we're out anyway because, if he spots a cat, rabbit or squirrel, he would be halfway to Chester before I could say 'Jack Robinson' (or anything else for that matter), and we have cows round here, rather than sheep, I can't really see that there would be many opportunities for him to hone his (obviously non-existent) skills anyway.
"It's just not in his genes," I say.
Of course, now we know someone who does have a sheep - in his back garden!
I'll be round with Paddy tomorrow, YP.

The Boss??

"I'm just going out to the van for a while," said Keith, this evening. "While I'm out there, you might want to rustle up a cake."

"Probably not," I said, but I don't think he heard me.

"Can't smell any cake baking," he said when he came back in.

"That would probably be because there is none," I said helpfully.

"But I left my orders for cake baking to begin!" he said.

"And I would take notice of that because...?"

"Because I am the master of the house," said Keith confidently.

"Oh dear," I said, "you have been barking up the wrong tree, haven't you?"

Have you been here too?

Another one from T.K.

Places I Have and Have Not Been I have been in many places, but I've never been in Cahoots. Apparently, you can't go alone. You have to be in Cahoots with someone. I've also never been in Cognito. I hear no one recognises you there. I have, however, been in Sane. They don't have an airport; you have to be driven there. I have made several trips there,  thanks to my friends, family and mostly work. I would like to go to Conclusions, but you have to jump, and I'm not too much on physical activity anymore. I have also been in Doubt. That is a sad place to go, and I try not to visit there too often. I've been in Flexible, but only when it was very important to stand firm. Sometimes I'm in Capable, and I go there more often as I'm getting older. One of my favourite places to be is in Suspense!  It really gets the adrenalin flowing and pumps up the old heart! At my age I need all the stimuli I can get! And, sometimes I think I am in Vincible but life shows me I am not! I have been in Deepshit many times; the older I get,the easier it is to get there.

Paddy's shower

Jenny seemed to be on one of those 'everything has to be clean' moods yesterday. I noticed that Keith stayed out of the way all day, so perhaps he knew something I didn't but, before I knew it, she had enticed me up to the bathroom and into the bath for a shower! She knows I don't like them, but she makes me have them anyway. Eventually, when she thought I was clean, she let me out and tried to dry me with a towel. Then she dragged me into the bedroom, not to roll on the bed, which would have been a sensible way of getting dry, but to undergo the further humiliation of being blown dry with her hairdryer. I tell you, if I'd seen the straighteners appear, I would really have lost it! She must think I'm a wimpy little poodle or something. Doesn't she know that we terrier types are tough and masculine? We don't go in for all that pretty, perfumed fussing. 

Today while we were out for our walk, I could just see the other dogs smirking.
"Ha! Look at him. He's had a bath!"
 I tried to trawl through a few muddy puddles but Jenny was just too quick for me and dragged me away. I'm sure she can read my mind!

Your friendly bank

There are two branches of our bank here in Wrexham. One is in the town, that's the one where there is always a queue and the irritation of those waiting in it is further compounded by the assistant tootling up and down the queue offering to help you pay in your money, cheques etc yourself. One day I shall be barred from there as I make sure I complain about this lack of attention to what customers really want ( ie, to be served quickly) practically every time I go in there.

The other branch is the one on the industrial estate, which Keith patronises. This is the one where I can definitely never show my face. Why? Because this is the one where they have been baking cakes to sell to customers to raise money for charity. Keith stumbled upon this delightful extra service a few weeks ago and, buying up almost everything that was left, complained mournfully that I never allow him to have such lovely things as cakes.

Each time he goes in, he turns on the charm:

"Where's me cake, then?"

Utterly irrisistible, I'm sure you would agree.

So, unable to stand his moaning resist his pleadings any longer, last night one of the poor, long-suffering employees made him a victorian sponge with his name on.

I don't know whether to laugh or cry!