V-day or D-day?

This Valentine's Day, I opted for the conventional dinner celebration, prepared a smashing dinner at home, if I do say so myself (and I do, cos the Gilb thought he’d had better black bean stir fry elsewhere, the bastard!)… which brings me on to one of my little paranoias in life – I never have, and never will, do Valentine’s at a restaurant. In my head, it runs like a well-choreographed ballet, where all the waiters flutter in from stage right, pour the wine simultaneously, and then all the lovers pick up their glasses, entwine their arms, and drink from each other’s glasses. Have you been to a restaurant on Valentine’s – is that how it works? Has anyone ever stabbed themselves on thorns of the bushes of red roses they stuff in every nook and cranny? Has anyone ever held up the restaurant and stolen all the overpriced flowers to sell back to the public and then retire in wealthy bliss? These are very serious questions….

just when you thought it was safe to flush...

The revelation hit me like a drunk hick attacks his wife after pay-cheque Friday drinks... I was at the Gilb's friend's house, watching the cricket quite innocently, when we turned to that all-time favourite conversation topic - poo. Fred announced that he can always tell the gender of the person who took a dump by looking at the poo's shape. "What? How?" I exclaimed. And then he told me an all-time truth that I'd never thought about. and now, i just can't stop thinking about it. I'm thinking of emailing New Scientist to answer the question for me. Which is: why do guys go to the loo daily, but women don't? we eat the same food - in fact, women probably eat far more roughage than men what with all our dieting fruit and veggies. and, the frequency of our pooing ahs allowed Fred to sex the poo's maker - "men's poo just looks like a string that comes out, but a woman's poo looks stodgy and compressed, like it's been bursting to bust out of her a-hole". charming, but true. any genius input from bloggers out there?