School Homework?

When I were a lad one of my biggest bugbears was homework, from an early age it loomed over my free time like a giant black slug, always squiggled on your shoulder ready to suck any joy I could extract from my rigorous monging regime.

The only way to 'salt the slug' was to bang out the homework as soon as you got it, but my inner Spaniard always shouts 'Manana! Manana!' at such noble initiatives....

For those of you not familiar with the process of salting a slug (not everyone lives a semi-aquatic existence on the northern fringes of Europe, I imagine folk from nice warm places are not menaced by slugs in the same way?) it involves dropping quantities of weapons grade sodium chloride onto the vegetable munching terrors -this simple process causes the slug to give up and go away and, I have it on good authority that it is a 97% humane procedure.

Here I am trying to reason with a slug (this one was salted soon after this attack your heart will sing to hear)





I thought homework was over when I finally left the education process after university, but, as any gardener will tell you, slugs are harder to shift than the slug pellet manufacturers would have us believe in their marketing brochures ( I caught a slug eating the pellets, remarkable - salted his ass good and proper).

Turns out when you have your own kids the whole process starts again, this time with the added bonus of not getting any credit for it...my point is this, why do kids need homework?

Most of this work - by its very nature, is done by parents, example 'Make a collage of pictures of bridges you have cut out of magazines, prepare a short story about a bridge to go with your picture'

What? Who - do teachers, in the farthest reaches of their under active, militant, I'll strike over nothing if you will, non-competitive, thank god its Friday minds, think will actually do this? I am unlikely to send my 6 year old off to the shagging newsagent with a fiver to buy magazines about bridges, some scissors, craft knifes and a tube of glue - the old bill would have him as soon as he rested on a park bench, another sad example of feral youth.

Having avoided the police and arrived home, am I supposed to send him off with a pair of scissors and the glue to create his collage....a sticky bloodbath, the best I could hope for would be for rivers of glue to somehow seal the bloody wounds before I got to the hospital.....

If all the work required of my spawn cannot be completed within school hours, then extend school hours! It is as they say, not rocket science (although I am not sure they are allowed to teach that in school anymore). The work could then be completed overseen by qualified teachers rather than exasperated parents who would really rather be doing something else of an evening (normally involving crushed grape juice).

Had I wanted to be a teacher (the endless holidays, tidy 9 to 3 hours and the free parking do appeal) I would have been a teacher, yes, homework is a charming window into their delightful world of 'speelings and sums' but frankly they can keep it at school where it belongs, I reckon...

To Freeze or not to Freeze

My relationship with Freezing is evolving, marked by a slow thaw...

Before I go on, I should point out what type of freezing I am referring to, I am talking about the freezing of dead things to prolong shelf life, freezing live things to shorten life is a completely different art, and I would hazard a guess at it being mostly illegal (maybe not in Russia which seems to take a different view on these sorts of things).

Live freezing in Russia!

I am also not, today at least, talking about being freezing, this dit does not concern 'baltic-ness' or it being a bit 'pearl harbour'* , chankers or even harry ice-ers, no this dit merely concerns freezing.

My spouse (Buddha bless her orange robes) is an avid devotee of the whole freezing process.

I have on occasions received nasty lip burns when returning to my dinner after a comfort break only to find it frozen solid - chicken, bread, eggs, flowers, peas, anything I am about to use etc...

For her the exciting idea that ANYTHING can be preserved indefinitely is enough to see most things frozen even if only for an hour.

You will understand the frustration this can cause I think, if like me you have ever spent a fruitless 10 mins trying to chip a loaf of bread apart so that you can help yourself to a marmalade sandwich (this process would have killed Paddington, or at least left him streaming with blood).

I hate the way that in order to retrieve even the simple frozen waffle packet from the freezer you must risk hideous cold injury, that's if you can feel anything in your hands after the giant ASDA chicken has tumbled onto them causing, and I know this is to be a medical term, 'crushing injuries'.

Lets not go to deeply into the disappointment of tucking into a steaming bowl of recently defrosted soup only to realise to late that you have just re-heated last years stewed rhubarb - or worse, the chicken fat your thought might come in useful, somehow, oneday perhaps....

I am struggling now to understand the title of my own post as these horrific memories wash over me..ah yes..my dance with the freezing process has changed due to the re-introduction into my life of cider.

I, like most youths grown in the south of Britain (not sure what happens up past Gloustershire but I suspect it involves Newcastle Brown Ale, coal and dirty women), had an early introduction to fermented apple juice, often in an outdoor setting and using a straw and a plastic bottle. This brief early acquaintance had for me, put cider firmly into the 'lets not go there this side of Armageddon' bracketl, along with white lightning, Pernod & black and babysham.

But now I find it has been reborn, chilled on ice and served in a glass it turns out to be a cracking solution that thorny problem - the cheeky school night tipple. Added to which, I have it on the authority of a major curly headed fitness coach with dodgy bowels, that it is THE DRINK when it comes to losing weight; Isotonic, low calorie and counts towards your five-a-day..I think.

The new mothers ruin?

Clearly to have cider on ice, you must have ice, and hence the love evolves

* Anybody of a PC nature should look away now....Pearl Harbour - A nip in the air.

The wedding

I want to discuss weddings but it is too late and I am too drunk, but I will, later, remind me. In the meantime let me quickly, before the sandman takes his glorious hand to me, mention the best way to experience a wedding without having to go through the rigmarole of going to one.

There is a pub...in Glasgow, near the station (railway not air - mongs) which is just peaking out of an under pass and I swear, every time you go there, be it at 1300hrs , 1700hrs or 0100hrs you walk into the same scene. A wedding breakfast.

As well as benefiting from a very cheap pint of 'heavy' you also benefit from being transported, instantly into the last two hours of a working class wedding (I use this term merely to paint a picture), the term I was going to use was 'council estate but I have deemed that too inflammatory given the ongoing class war.

Anyway, whenever you walk in, , and I do mean whenever - there will be;

A couple of old grandparents vaguely moving on the area formerly known as a dance floor.
An uncle will be singing.
Various cousins will be beyond drunk, lecturing at will and befriending in an inappropriate manner anybody who stops moving,
Ill matched couples will be snogging and groping oblivious to their surroundings
Tired looking kids will be playing 'IT'

Note: There will be a particularly pissed Scot banging on about the English, this is common at MOST weddings but I accept not all.

You should go.

Where is it? you will know when you have found it, be brave, its a friendly place but please remember 'no shandy' and 'two pint pissers' will not be tolerated.

The Sneeze

I have recently developed a cold, I will not talk in this instance about the much vaunted 'man flu', although I have (as most males have) suffered at the hands of this little dancer, my cold clearly worse.

First the positive, it makes me sneeze quite a bit, I quite like to sneeze, I find it a powerful natural vibration and can revel in the control I am allowed to lose as the sneeze, and with it I presume some of the virus, exits my body. I have never (knowingly) been possessed but I imagine that the inevitable exorcism (I watch movies like everybody else) would be like a series of powerful sneezes....delightfully purging you whilst setting the spirits free to feast on other unfortunate souls.....another bonus of the sneeze is the obvious signal it sends to other people about your state of health, no need to look sad and shivery here. Girls are especially vulnerable to the sneeze and quickly fall prey to its wonderful sympathy generating properties...feel like a hot cup of cocoa? Try a few sneezes first and watch the women folk fight to make it for you....

Actually, writing down the positive has made my cold feel alot better, well I feel better, which I guess means the cold feels worse? The little viral army that is encamped in my sinus' must be feeling a little less secure and that is good.

I have thought about trying to contact the virus through occult means, maybe I could strike a deal with the devil (as it were), if the virus were to withdraw a little of the misery (free up the nose and head areas). I would be willing to go and sneeze in rich hunting grounds rather than lock myself away in a darkened room and feast on lockets.

For the blood price of a few days relief, I would gladly wander old peoples homes and homeless shelters sneezing freely and allowing the virus to spread unchecked amongst the tired and vulnerable members of society......just a thought..

Tuesday Afternoon 1603.03hrs - again.....

1603.22hrs
The air creeps closer than before
A sentient night waiting to fall
Sweeping past tired thoughts, clogging minds
Wrapping, sucking, pressing
Invisible webs of the future clutch and hold
Hunting down hope
A bristling spider of the past
1603.57hrs
Bright eyes grow dim and fluid
The candles last cheap flicker
Limbs, muscles, flesh hangs still
No carbon here, no support
Heart beats flicker in dead skins
Waiting, watching, for release
The freedom of despair
1604.08
Time for a cup of tea methinks........

The Flower

Seed embedded in cool soil, moist air clings,

Skin flows on skin, the rivers meet
Embraced now by life, splitting, reaching,
Breath no longer mine, I breathe you,
Roots move deep, sucking life,
Never too much, immersed, lost,free,
Entangled now, light in dark, giving , receiving,
No boundaries here, only touch,
Does the valley end, the mountain start?
No more self, just heat, so much heat,
Colour waiting, yellow mother comes,
Who was I?
Silken robes burst free, the sky weeps,
Thoughts trickle away on salty streams,
Velvet blood shines, both new and old,
Pulses slow, mist rises, flesh cools, panting,
The display falters, perfection drops to decay,
Becoming less whole, apart, hysterical loss,
Alone, the ground whispers the memory,
Only one mind, two creatures, only one mind
A flower...

Babies Binary Communication Systems

I am not an expert in babies, but I have had 'charge' of the odd one or two and have studied their ways. In order to try to understand the baby you have too remember two things:

1. They always have a mission or purpose (normally with a real tight time scale).

2. They communicate using binary oral systems.

Point one first (logical eh?). However random a small child's actions may appear they are in fact tremendously busy at all times, interrupting any one of their little projects can cause them to become more than a little agitated.

Take the beach for instance..you decide to walk the little fella (or lass) down toward the sea and he kicks off...why?

Well it may just be that he was under a severe time constraint on moving those shells from a to b, he was, until you intervened, progressing quite well through his little task list;

a. Move 3 shells.
b. Taste Sand.
c. Complete 4m crawling speed trial in southerly direction (practise two emergency stops during this evolution).
d. Fill nappy with approx 4 oz of sand.
e. Gnaw on pebble.
f. Assess interest from parents, if surveillance is low to poor - eat sand.
g. Move remaining four shells.

Also, he knows he only has a limited daylight hours at the beach, this does not leave him an awful lot of time to complete his tasks as it is, let alone having to swan off down to the water (once there he will of course create a new more urgent wave focused list).

Imagine how you would feel if you were dragged off onto some unauthorised activity in the middle of one of your projects. I have recently felt the full force of my little girls rage, when I decided to give her a bottle midway through her 'snap' DVD re-arrangement and electric plug tasting session.

So, neatly onto the title of the post. When I interrupted her session she communicated her displeasure in a certain way, the indications she gave me were I suspect, no different to the indications I would have received had she just had her left arm ripped off below the elbow by a sabre toothed tiger...it may be that she was actually THAT upset (that to her, the DVD removal appeared in her little brain no different to an arm removal), or that she only has a binary communication system which is the theory I favour.

For instance, what has happened...













What we imagine given the verbal communication we receive...










You see, until a certain age the little scamps use an all or nothing binary system to communicate, they transmit either happy (gentle cooing, gurgling etc) or 'life threatening danger '(blood curdling screaming intermixed with little panicked sobs). They is no middle ground.

This system I suspect was designed way back in the day when our ancestors babies often did face extreme situations which required immediate clan action (mammoth attack springs to mind).

These days it can be a little annoying.

Kung Fu Kids

We (my spouse and I) have tried many different activities for the kids as is the fashion. Recently however, we have hit upon a winner... a hybrid form of Kick-boxing that teaches them to use nearly every part of their tiny little bodies as deadly weapons whilst also instilling discipline and wearing them out...magic. Sadly the curriculum does not include some of my favourites as demonstrated by Daniel-sun in the karate kid and 'the lord Patrick of Swayze' in Roadhouse but I am remedying this by teaching them the classic 'crane' kick in my own time.

What parent (male) would not want his little darlings to be yoda-esque fighting machines (see picture) as comfortable with the spinning roundhouse kick to the bridge of the nose as they are with sugar puffs (although I have never been fully at ease with that big honey monster dude, gives me the screaming fear)?

Incidentally, the only known defence against a well executed spinning roundhouse to the bridge of the nose is a straight faint...this also happens to be the principle defense against the flying axe kick to the base of the skull - imoh.


The only downside so far is the disturbing way that the lads are able to 'cheek out' a sweet left hook to my stomach when I am attempting to put them to bed.

Ouch.

PS. For those of you new to this, throughout the blog any words which are a different colour are actually links, which, as links do will take you somewhere nice.

If you are going to drink a pint of sick..don't sip at it...

Recently, as many will know, I had the mixed fortune to visit Lithuania, I alluded to this in a recent post. I made a passing reference at the time to poor smelling ham and I think it is a story which is worth expanding on.

My friends and I, as part of our cultural education process were 'touring' outlying areas of Vilnius, the capital of this once proud socialist republik in order to experience the real Lithuania. Well actually we were trying to reach the famous 'revolving restaurant' but, after walking towards it for the best part of an hour and a half, during which time it had failed to get any nearer we had given up and were marooned, spitting feathers in no-wheres-ville.

Boy, did it get real.

We alighted on a bar cafe situated in a non de-script street surrounded by post war Russian architecture (future generations may one day describe the Soviet planners as gifted, until that point I will describe them as twats). The bar itself had a cosy feel, consisting of two appropriately darkened rooms, one contained a series of wooden dining booths in which locals (old vacant looking folk with poor skin) were chomping merrily away on various stews and meats and the other was what I would call a standard (if small) bar area with a, wait for it, a bar, and a couple of sets of bistro stylie chairs and tables.

We settled in the bar area and were promptly issued menus by what we took to be the landlady. She was middle aged but had a shy beauty to her clearly hardened by years of potatoes and guard duty.

We decided on beers and after a brief discussion, during which time I was shouted down three times, resolved to order some beer snacks. Now, in Lithuania, most menus have a helpful little section entitled 'beer snacks' to aid this process. The menu was written in 'foreign' but contained a little summary of the produce, the first line summary simply read ' Goat' , this snack was discarded as suspicious, the next line read 'Withered Meat', this was clearly a helpful warning that was not wasted on the group and this too was discarded. The third line read 'ham', a safe haven? We thought so and ordered a plate to go with the brews.

The plate of ham arrived looking for all the world like a little Tapas style parma ham nibble, a quick slug of beer later and I tried a piece. Error. I have a pretty cast iron stomach and despite swallowing as quickly as possible was close to inverting my stomach onto the table, another friend (one who can eat an Aussie meat pie without flinching) nibbled at a piece before declaring the plate of special food 'minging'. By this point the incredible smell of the Ham had impacted on the group in general, we decided two things; 1. The Ham was not fit for Western Humans, 2. That we should spoof to see who should eat at least two pieces. (for those not familiar with great game spoof, I refer you here).

10 Min's later and we had a loser (a Welshman - no relevance, just for information) . Once the loser had 'won', several members of the group took the opportunity to announce that had they lost, they was no way on Gods earth that they would have eaten the ham....our victim however was made on sterner stuff, dragging the evil smelling plate of old pork towards him he startled us all by proclaiming-

"Gentlemen. If you are going to drink a pint of sick...don't sip at it..." At this, with quite a flourish, a delectable morsel of rancid squealer was plucked from the plate and thrown into his mouth.

There was a pause.

There was a startled expression on our losers face.

There was a retching sound followed by a general panic (had I had access to a personal rape alarm I would have sounded it), our man leaped from the table and quickly located the toilet, mercifully situated not 3 yards to his rear, diving through the door we were then treated to about two minutes worth of loud vomiting noise which filled the establishment.

When our man had recovered himself (we had not and were still suffering 'belly' laughs, as was the landlady) he returned to the table, sadly for him, and joyously for us, the ham remained, one sniff as he sat down was all it took to send him spinning back to the bowl for another round of pro-active body cleansing.

Strong stuff that ham, we were unable to discover its true nature, although it did have a 2mm film of 'mingishness' around the outside of each slice which the landlady (who incidentally ate all the remaining ham with something approaching relish when we returned the plate) described as 'spice', I would describe it simply as 'off'.

Later that day, in another bar, a waitress walking past our table inadvertently caused another major incident when a member of the group caught a whiff of the 'ham' she was carrying, harrowed by the earlier experience and yet being one who had never even tasted the ham, he was forced to bolt to the toilet, the toilet had an odd low door frame, designed I think for dwarfs, and he suffered a nasty head wound on entry before he threw his ring up in disgust.

If anyone can shed any light on the origin or method of production of this Baltic 'ham' I would be extremely grateful.

Flying Fatman tries to kill the hog

The Hog has evolved into a man who cycles..I am one of those rare beasts you see flashing past your steamy windows on a wet winter morning festooned in day-glow yellow and flashing lights..

I cycle for a variety of reasons, some fitness based, others historical, whatever the reason I pay particular interest in trying to stay alive....

I was almost 'taken out' one day by a fat smoking person in an old Granada. And by 'taken-out' I mean 'crushed lifeless beneath the wheels '.

I was cruising along, minding my way, when enter stage right came a fast moving fat smoking person on wheels . And when I say smoking, I do in no way mean it like this....

Monica Bellucci - smoking, hot, agreeable - nice.

But much more like this..

Yes, I mean proper smoking, minging, coughing, wheezing as you drive when you should be watching where the **** you are going..

And when I say fat, I do not mean this....

Cute, chubby in a fun way, huggable..

I mean this....

Sickeningly pale, cheesy and ever so slightly Germanic (I think its the facial hair) .

Anyways, the person, who to all intents and purposes appeared to have had the Ford Granada constructed around their frame (no obvious way 'bean boy' could have left the car by the doors, maybe a removable roof and crane arrangement at his lair), entered my 'space' at about 40 mph without even a sideways glance.

Now my space in this instance was about 12 inches and it was clear that 'bean boy' had not seen me as we approached a pinch point in the road.....How he did not see me is unclear, as I have said, I light myself up like a comet when traversing the roads of England, I can only assume that his withered neck muscles were unable to shift his huge bloated head and that his beady little eyes could not see past his fleshy red cheeks.

I was forced to take action to prevent hospitalisation and this I did by hammering on the near side passenger window with my shiny black gloves whilst simultaneously hurling abuse and panicking (nothing like a multi-task). This combination of visual and oral stimuli managed to reach 'bean boys' brain and after a quick glance in my direction he....did nothing, I on the other hand had a minor crash.

The flying fat man sped off to eat children. If you are a child and see him...Run!! He will look something like this...

Note - Artists impression from my description...

My observations from this?

1. Ford make a sturdy car.

2. Drivers should be banned from smoking (if nothing else it just enraged me more)

3. How did he get that fat so quickly? He can't have been more that 30 years old.

One possible answer to question 3 came, funnily enough on a recent trip to the States (see earlier blog entry). Should you ever go to Walt Disney's world you will be able to hire a little pushchair for you infant (stroller they call them), or if you need it, a quite substantial pushchair for your growing fat kid.

Now, for our kids the policy was simple (stand-fast Scarlett - 8 months), if you are too tired to walk, you are too tired for Disney and its home time. Worked a treat.

However, the sheer amount of 10 -14 year old kids being pushed around in those strollers by sweating parents beggared belief, giant children barely able to squeeze into a double stroller squealed orders at their parents in between sips from giant vats of coke...I shit you not.

A quick bit of math tells me that 'Bean' had visited Disney at age 11, stayed for 6 days and was banned for trying to take a bite out of Pete's Dragon.

Butterfly In the Snow

The focus of my soul has been,
all scent of summer gone,
Almost by chance,
air once lifted, gave hope,
Drawn out of line,
now it seizes life,
A merger of dream and despair.
butterfly in the snow.

A wholeness which was once too easy,
power which was once so envied,
Red blurred horizon,
churns the icy surface,
Broken drops of desperate thought,
vibrant colour swirls on white,
I want a place to land, some warmth.
butterfly in the snow.

Darkness filled with tomorrows tears,
the delicate strength,
Sorrow stained love,
can no more keep,
A need to distill, make pure,
an alien beauty,
The hidden passion.
butterfly in snow.

the hog

Dwarfs are no laughing matter

I have some knowledge of Dwarfs, I had not thought to share it with you but the following story has highlighted the need for public awareness...

It is taken from the grapevine columns of the Pattaya Mail which state:


Freak accident: A circus dwarf, nicknamed Od, died recently in the North when he bounced sideways from a trampoline and was swallowed by a yawning hippopotamus which was waiting to appear in the next act. Vets on the scene said Hilda the Hippo had a gag reflex which automatically caused her to swallow. They added in mitigation that the hefty creature was a vegetarian who had not previously digested a circus performer. Unfortunately, the 1000 plus spectators continued to applaud wildly until common sense dictated there had been a tragic mistake. Police said the trampoline has been sent for forensic analysis.


Dwarfs as everybody knows are always getting into 'scrapes' and as a result it is always wise to know whether you have any in your vicinity at any particular time...one of the big problems when gathering information on dwarfs is how to tell them apart from the other little folk such as Midgets and large headed children.


I have a solution, the trick to this is understanding a key difference between dwarfs and other folk, namely, that a Dwarf's knees will not bend when he runs. So what? Well, if you have ever seen dwarf moving at speed (see the film Willow for a classic example) you can clearly see a distinctive rolling gait is created by this lack of knee joint mobility....


This gait subsequently causes the head to bob which can be spotted a mile away by a trained observer...


The next question is how to use this knowledge to identify dwarfs for onward processing...the best way I have found (and this method is particular good in a crowd situation where dwarfs are 'free running') is to use french bangers.

A couple of these babies let off at ground level will panic the dwarfs causing them to flee, effectively flushing them out - at this point they can easily be spotted and subsequently netted.


Note: I do of course refer to fictional dwarfs such as the ones found in Disney and LOTR, small people with large heads should not be offended by this piece, because this is no laughing matter.


A dwarf woman showing classic knee non-mobility....

Nothing in Nature is Black

Back in the day, the hog attended a military training course run, by 'Royal'. These Royal Marines, to give them their full title, are widely regarded as the finest infantry on the planet.

I was volunteered to join this bunch of killers in a support role (fixing stuff when it broke) but was expected to prove my worth.

Anyhow to cut what could be an exceptionally long 'Dit' short (Dit: meaning to tell a tale, a story). Royal were training us in the various military arts and today it was camouflage (the art of not being seen). A stocky heavily moustached corporal was leading the lesson. Being Royal, the lesson was being conducted outside, sitting in a leafy wood in a light drizzle, we were shivering softly to ourselves as we listened intently.

You had to be very careful on this particular course with your listening and actions, any perceived slight or failing on the part of the course (approx 100 folk) would be met with a barrage of abuse, often a lot of needless running and quite probably a significant amount of press-ups. Press-up are fun with the Royal Marines because instead of just giving you press-ups there is a routine to follow:

Nasty looking man with a green hat " Front support position, PLACE!!"

At this point all the volunteers on the course adopt the standard 'press-up position. Note: This is adopted despite the terrain, which could be anything from a concrete road, a puddle, a muddy estuary or most disappointing of all, gorse bushes (not normal gorse bushes of course, but ones that have been chemically treated to produce a skin eating rash - that's another story).

Nasty "Arms A-Bender!!!"

Volunteers all bend arms and remain in the press-up 'down' position. Which, if the area is underwater can be frustrating.

Nasty " Stretcher!!!"

Volunteers, who by now are becoming a little self reflective on the whole volunteering issue, Stretch their arms back to the original position.

This then carries on until the group is suitably contrite for whatever misdemeanor has been inadvertently committed.

I digress, back to the lesson - we were given the standard introduction and then the lesson began. This particular Corporal decided to start the lesson with a description of the colours appropriate for military ops...to back up one of his 'claims' about not wearing black clothes he made the statement:

"Nothing in nature is black"

We all murmured in approval as was expected (we were to either murmur in approval or shout "YES STAFF" at the top of our voices depending on circumstance). The talk carried on but the statement was eating away at me. I had accepted a lot of information on this course but this one truth was a truth too far...I raised a tentative hand.

"Yes" said he with a menacing wriggle of his (black) moustache

"With regard you comment that made reference to the colour of nature, What about seals? I mean, I was just wondering and..."

"They are Grey"

" Oh yes, how silly of me, sorry, and Crows?"

Well, I ....not exactly black are they?"

"Blackbirds?" (a master stroke)

"Hmmmmmm"

The course then became emboldened, from the back came "What about Tiger stripes!" Another chimed in "Or zebras, and that's part of their camouflage!"

The course smelled blood as the Corporal struggled to wrestle Royals opinion (for which he would lay down his life) with our empirical observations, attempting to push him our way the course erupted -

"Ants! Coal! Beatles! Coughs! Black Panthers! The Black Mamba, Killer whales! Badgers! Black Widow! Gorilla! Bats! Black Swan! Black Cat!.....etc...."

The Corporal called for silence, a stood there dealing internally with what he had heard..he made a decision and smiled....

"FRONT SUPPORT POSITION PLACE!!!!! ARMS-A-BENDER!!!!"

To this day I still believe nothing in nature is black.

A selection of colourful non-black creatures which can still be found in nature to this day: