All Things Bright and Beautiful

There is a cage under the BDP. Wait! Don’t panic! I shall describe it to you, and then you can panic. It is about my height (5’5”), looks to be made of aluminium (Merkins say aluminum, right? How odd!), has a two and a half feet-ish base (measurements are not my strong suit), wheels on the underneath, and a door hanging open, as though something got out. Ok, GO with the panicking!

I have sent ‘M’ out to take a picture, but it may not still be there… Mind you, he *ahem* or she may never come back.

In other news, I woke up this morning in an odd mood.

I had this song going round and round in my brain. Damn you, brownies! *shakes fist*

I've got a little baby bumble bee
Won't my mummy be surprised at me?
I've got a little baby bumble bee
Oo, ee, the bee stung me.

I'm squashing up my baby bumble bee
Won't my mummy be surprised at me?
I'm squashing up my baby bumble bee
Oo, ee, it’s on me.

I'm licking up my baby bumble bee
Won't my mummy be surprised at me?
I'm licking up my baby bumble bee
Oo, ee, the bee's in me.

I'm bringing up my baby bumble bee
Won't my mummy be surprised at me?
I'm bringing up my baby bumble bee
Oo, ee, there's my bee.


Also, today I am reading ‘Passenger to Frankfurt’, which is an Agatha Christie book written to commemorate her 80th birthday (15th September 1970). It’s so odd to see her mention the Beatles. In my mind, she and all her characters are 30s, 40s and 50s based.

It mentioned a Van Dyck painting, which immediately led to my thinking of Dick van Dyke. Let’s face it, a lot of things make me think of him, because the man’s a god. Anyway, it reminded me of this joke (seen here on Snopes)

A strikingly handsome young man walked into the office of a Hollywood agent with his resume and portfolio in hand. The agent reviewed the young man's slim resume and small portfolio with the care that was deserving of his fine young specimen.
"You have the very obvious good looks and excellent demeanor of an actor. Tell me, have you had any roles that I might be aware of."
"Other than the requisite high school and college plays, no sir," said the handsome young man.
"I dare say I know the reason why, with a name like yours," said the agent.
"Sir?"
"Your name. Penis Van Lesbian. That's not a name that will go far in Hollywood. I'd love to represent you, but you'll have to change your name."
"Sir," the handsome young man protested. "The Van Lesbian name was my father's, my grandfather's and his father's name. We have carried this name for generations and I will not change it for Hollywood or any other reason."
"If you won't change your name, I cannot represent you young man."
"Then I bid you farewell -- my name will not change." With that, Penis Van Lesbian left the agents office never to return.
Five Years Later: The Hollywood agent returned to his office after lunch with some producers and shuffled through his mail. Mostly junk mail, trade journals and the like. There was one letter. He opened the envelope and removed the letter. As he unfolded the fine linen paper, a check dropped from the folds and onto his desk. He looked at the check. It was for 50,000 dollars! He read the letter:
Dear Sir: Several years ago, I entered your office determined to become an actor. You refused to represent me unless I changed my name. I objected, saying the Penis Van Lesbian name had been carried for generations and left your office. However, upon leaving, I chanced to reconsider my hastiness and after considerable reflection, I decided to heed your advice and endeavored to change my name. Now I am a famous actor with many roles and known to millions worldwide.
Having achieved this fame and fortune, it is often that I think back to my meeting with you and your insistence that I change my name. I owe you a debt of gratitude, so please accept this check with my humble thanks, for it was your idea which has brought me to such wealth and fame.
Very Sincerely Yours,
Dick Van Dyke

And now that’s stuck in my head. Well done me.

And here's a new fact for you all (or at least, for most of you):

By his final appearance in Curtain (1975), Poirot was confined to a wheelchair, although his little grey cells remained as sharp as ever. Upon his death, Hercule Poirot became the only fictional character ever to be honored with an obituary on the front page of The New York Times.

How wonderful! I love that.

"Tra la la, the three cats sang
And then they heard the first big bang"
So, according to 'Mog and Meg', cats existed before the universe did.
Singing cats, no less.

Right, now leave a comment lest I kill you.

Oh, and read Snowy's blog.

Matt has kindly explained to me how to do links. I love Matt.

Right, now leave a comment. GO!