A while ago when I was on unemployed and signing on I read a magazine article about a women who spent all her time filling in competitions to win prizes. She did so many that by the law of averages she won quite frequently. I thought to myself as I read this, that sounds like my kind of job. I only lasted a few weeks at it and didn't win squat because I got so bored of the puzzles. All the crossword clues were repeated and they were too easy.
My favourite crossword clue is this one: Rough crust on a wound?
See, too easy. But I like this one because I like the word Scab and I love the way they describe it. Rough crust. I like scabs but only if they're my own. I am definitely a picker and miss the days when there was nearly always a scab on the go.
I also love the way the word scab is used these days. It's a versatile word that can be used to describe someone who is a bit manky or someone who sponges from you. I remember my friend Barbie used to always call us scabs although she was the Queen of the scab artists and we were more like her Scabettes. Now when I think about it I like the word crusty too and I'm beginning to think that maybe I've got an unhealthy obsession with minging words.
Anyway, I haven't completely given up on becoming a full time competition enterer but my problem at the minute is that I can get the competions filled in but I rarely send them off. I'm sure if I had sent them off I'd have won a TV or washing machine by now. Or even better, the supermarket trolley dash.
8 comments:
Have you accidentally switched off comments in your most recent post?
Or is it blogger being pillocky?
I go with b) blogger being pillocky.
Well, it's google, ain't it? They're getting sloppy these days.
Your most recent post appears to have vanished into the ether. Maybe you should switch to some other blogging service while you and your blog are still young.
Oh, it works *now*, does it?
All we wanted to say is for you to accompany your mother to Belshaft this coming satdeh, stashing a hatchet in your voluminous handbag. (Do you have a voluminous handbag? If not, my good lady can advise on such things. Both voluminous and not.)
See, we collect web-lawg-ers ears. In a bucket. And we need new ones.
Be there! And be opined on all by us. For we are The Wise and All-Knowing Ones.
2pm. Starbucks. Cornmarket. Kickoff.
Dood, you're not getting my ears. I've told you this before, and my opinion hasn't changed.
Perhaps you could just grab some off an innocent bystander. That's what they're there for.
I had agreed to accompany Nelly on saturday but now I'm feared. You wouldn't like my ears anyway. Full of wax.
Feared? Nothing to be feared of. We're all perfectly normal. Except Marc, obviously, but he's got the paperwork now to prove that he's no longer a danger to himself or others.
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