Aoccdrnig to rscheearch at an Elingsh uinervtisy, it deosn’t mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer is at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a toatl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae we do not raed ervey lteter by it slef but the wrod as a wlohe.

Isn’t that interesting?

One of the many good things about blogging is the looking back and laughing. Take this post, for instance: David B and his lover boy antics. A corker.

BBC NEWS – Sleep position gives personality clue. I’m a ‘foetus’, combined with a hint of ‘soldier’.

My current bank balance is so astounding, I took a picture:

I’ve just had the unnerving experience of having myself, Michelle and two ex-girlfriends all searching for a sandwich in the same Marks and Spencer aisle.

We left at 6.45 this morning, bound for work. It was early, but Michelle and I needed to negotiate the notorious Hindhead crossroads if I was to get to work by 8am. We were making good time, and the crossroads was remarkably light of traffic. Pleased with my timekeeping, I sped on up the A3.
“Well, chaos on the roads this morning,” the traffic announcer joyfully told me. “The A3 is closed due to a heath fire”, he added helpfully, just as I passed the last turn off point. I joined the back of the queue, smelt the burning wood in the air, and hoped that the fire brigade would pour cold water on the situation.
Three and a half hours later, we were 800 metres further on, and rueing the fact that I hadn’t bought a newspaper. The stranded drivers developed a bunker mentality, discussing in no particular order the weather, the police and the young kids who no doubt started the fire. Still, it did mean I could spend the time paying off ?125 of parking fines (“Ah, Mr Stacpoole, it’s good to hear from you again”) and the rest of my car loan. And enabled me to have a 6 hour working day!

What does James Bond do now he doesn’t have all those blasted films to appear in? Why, he gives evidence to the Hutton Inquiry, of course.

“London Stansted Airport” the sign finally informed us.

What would you deduce from that simple, triple-worded name? That it was an airport, obviously. That the area of Stansted housed the airport, of course. And that it was either either in, or very near, London.
All correct. Apart from the London part. Getting from Guildford to Watford, a regular trip for friends of Jac, is under an hour away, so I willingly agreed to pick Nick and Sarah up from Stansted on Sunday afternoon, looking forward to the trip. And then, come Sunday morning, Michelle printed out the AA directions off their website. “84 miles” it informed us with a papery grin. “1hr 45min” it added with emphasis. “Bloody hell” I replied, “that’s just one way too…”
And so it was that we toddled up the A3 round the M25, up to M11 and took a left at the signpost for the Outer Hebrides. Still, it was a fun trip, with Michelle and I hastily constructing an amusing sign out of a broken-down box to raise, airport chauffeur-like, on Nick’s arrival.
So, Nick’s back, and very burnt. In fact, Nick’s back IS very burnt… (ah ha ha… ahem…)

Who stole Diana Dors’ Millions? I’ve just watched this fascinating programme on Channel 4, a true life story that wouldn’t be out of place in a Hollywood movie.
It’s about the English movie star Diana Dors, who ended up trawling the bingo halls and parlours for a pittance, before going bankrupt. Before she died, she handed her son a cryptic code, suggesting that ?2 million could be found if he could crack it. This year, while her friends (including Michael Winner and other famous old faces) scoffed at the suggestion of her having any money, the son found old bank statements and black books, showing that she had substantial funds that the taxman never knew about. He finally cracked the code, only to find it was only half of the total code – the other half belonged to her husband, who committed suicide in the 80′s. It’s certainly got people talking. So close, yet so far…
It led me to thinking – how much money is sitting in dormant accounts, waiting to be discovered? I’d settle for just a few thousand, I don’t want to appear greedy…

I almost finished the week by forgetting to mention: I had a lovely chat on Monday with Michael Owen’s lovely other half, Louise Bonsall. Lovely woman she was, very friendly. Which is more than can be said for the young Owen screaming for milk in the background…