Try these generators to liven up your day…
Are migrants ruining the identity of the Queen?
Thou curmudgeonly apple-worm!
Widen that envelope! Use your synergies!
Have a wordy day, won’t you!
A bonus for fans of 1970’s British public information films and early 1990’s rave music, also in the Voronezh hit parade back in ’91-’92.
Have a feline day, won’t you!
My fellow blogger from Germany has a headline for some her blogs, which roughly translates as “Turn up the volume!”
This song always reminds me of my year abroad in Russia 1991-1992, and local Russians singing the chorus in heavily-accented English.
Enjoy I’m The One and Only Dominator (and there is no other).
Having a dominating day, won’t you!
My local radio station, BBC Radio Tees, runs a headline competition on its breakfast show.
Here’s the story.
Here’s my headline.
FACE STIFF PENALTIES”
Have a tabloid day, won’t you!
This looks worth follwoing and reading.
Last year, I took Joyce Meyer’s #3030challenge. I studied the Bible daily for 30 minutes then posted what I learned. I’d like to go back and share some of the topics that were particularly eye-opening. I hope you find them helpful!
If you don’t do regular Bible study, I strongly encourage it. I’m a Bible beginner myself. I finished reading the Bible in its entirety just a few months ago. And I only started truly studying it last month.
In that short period, I’ve really been transformed by the Word. I’m not seeing angels or having visions or anything like that. But everyday moments, moments I used to think nothing of, are spiritual lessons and messages.
Give it a try, you’ll see what I mean. If you already study the Bible routinely…
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Even though I’m not Catholic, I had been feeling a bit of guilt. I decide to phone my Mum, hoping for some sensible, intelligent, conversation that doesn’t revolve around:
Conversations with my mum tend to be somewhat negative. If you have a bonfire, she’ll empty her bladder over it.
“It’s taking a while to get a new tenant in my house.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have used that agency.”
Sadly, my sister, V, is a mini-me of my mum, only with:
Yesterday I mentioned to our mother that V had un-friended me.
Why? What have you done?
Not, “Why? What happened?” An immediate accusation.
There was a discussion about Northern Ireland. I was asked what I knew about Northern Ireland. I explained I had relatives who had served there in the British Army. V leapt in with a diatribe against Dad. I told her politely that this was not the right forum to go into family disputes when people were debating Northern Ireland. Nobody else is interested anyway.
Cue immediate defence of V.
But your dad is an (expletive deleted).
Ginge in Germany:
But a public discussion about is not the right place to hang your dirty laundry in public.
A curt reply:
That translates as:
You are right, but I am not prepared to speak against my mini-me.
Do you not see why that is wrong?
Do you not understand?
It just doesn’t sink in. Sometimes, frankly, I wonder if my mum has autistic tendencies due to her tactlessness and lack of empathy towards other. In the end I give up and say that Schatz and I havae to head out now, catch you later.
Sometimes I feel like just not bothering to call her and see how long it takes for her to contact me. Regrettably I know it’s all my fault. I chose to be born with the wrong set of “equipment” down below. My fault. Hands up. I admit it. I am ashamed of the bad choice I made.
Honour your mother and father, yes, good idea. But honour and respect don’t come at the drop of a hat. Honour and respect have to be earned.
Have a commanding day, won’t you!
The Bible commands in Exodus 20:12:
Honour your father and your mother.
And truly I tell you, it’s a good commandment.
That’s the Biblical quotatation for you. From theology to humour. Now for an old East Germany joke…
A school teacher asks little Fritz:
“Fritzchen, why are you always speaking of our Soviet brothers? It’s Soviet friends.”
“Well, you can always choose your friends. You can’t choose your family.”
Many a true word said in jest, Fritz.
This been a somewhat frustrating weekend for me. Philip Larkin was spot-on when he wrote This Be Verse. (I leave you to read the poem in your own time. It does have a small typo. I think the second word in the poem should begin with an “m,” not an “f.”)
My Dad, “Sunray,” is a “problem child.” Lonely, with few friends, alienated from most of his family, with an alcohol dependency a “grumpy old man” personality. Not exactly the most attractive thing to write in his online dating profile, but hey, ho, there you go.
Because Sunray has a low boredom threshold. He tends to phone me every two or three times a day on Saturdays, sometimes even more than that, reaching double-figures. The same again on Sundays, even though he knows I am out at church most of the day on Sunday. This being even though I phone him from work three times a week and end up having long chats with him, so he can tell me his “When I was in [insert name of garrison town]…” war stories again and again. And again.
This Saturday I relented and called him back to keep him quiet.
Another anecdote about Fallingbostel 1965, which I’d heard only about…. ooooh… some fifteen times this year…
Three minutes into the call Sunray declares:
Anyway, I don’t want to chat any more. Bye.
Two hours, three hours, four hours later, more phone calls from him. That was the pattern on Friday. This time, on Saturday, I ignore the calls, probably much to his chagrin.
As Schatz was here, I decide to pull out my landline cable to get some peace and quiet. Later in the evening I re-connect the landline. More phone calls from him, not leaving a message. Then at about 20:00 the calls stop. He’s probably drunk his quota of rose wine and climbed into bed for the night, muttering his mantra, “Every single f*cker’s been f*ckin’ me about. Sick and tired of it. People f*ckin’ me about…”
Enough about Sunray.
Have an honourable day, won’t you!
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