Personal Blogs

On Moonlight Lane I paused one night

To hear the church bells ring.

And when they told me it was late

I hurried on again.

"Plans?" He raised his eyebrows

Thrust his big head toward ours.

(Smiling again.) "Is this some kind of test?"

He said. "Just let us have the reins.

We'll do the rest.

You're in safe hands. It's best."

A thousand lies, a million tears.

A hundred years from now, who cares?

According to The Times (p.12, 13 July 2016)

"Drinking a large glass of water with a meal tricks the brain into thinking you are full, researchers say."

The article does go on to elaborate what the 19 people in the study consumed: 50 ml or water, or 350 ml. Those that drank the greater amount felt fuller.

I don't have any difficulty in believing the findings, even though it was not a proper double-blind trial. (The subjects at least must have an idea how much they drank, even if the researchers didn't.) My own self-experiments, using beer rather than water, strongly confirm the results of the study and suggest it is a repeatable effect, although lacking the surprise factor somewhat.

Today I made a train journey. When I got back I was hot and bothered; and hobbling a bit, the result of an old apple-scrumping injury that plays me up now and again.

Being lame, I thought I'd take the long way home. It's quite a pleasant walk on a summer day and doesn't involve any hills.

I'd forgotten about the stile.

You'll never guess what happened. I was having a real struggle – but suddenly a dog appeared out of nowhere and helped me over the stile. It was one of those big Swiss rescue dogs.

Incredibly, under its chin it carried a miniature cask of chilled alpine spring water. I would never have believed it, if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes.

(Ed. Such a big story. Someone stopped their car and offered him a lift home is all.)

I didn't like being buked in the first place. When I was rebuked I took it badly.

I'm meant to be on a diet. But whenever I start eating German sausages, things just go from brat to wurst.

She threw a jug at me. What an absolutely beautiful parabolic trajectory!

That's what I call pottery in motion.

My abacus is broken again. I just can't count on it.