Play at home fun

I was once told by someone that I have good spatial awareness. It sounded good and so I believed it. I've never conclusively proved it to myself, but I'd like to think that my judgement of distance, volume and area is on a par with the greatest minds in the world. All based on this one isolated comment.

The reality, of course, is probably quite different but I'd be interested to know how you fare in the following test.

Using your judgement only, imagine that the four black dots in the corners of the following diagrams are joined to form an X. Your task is to identify which of the coloured dots in the middle represents the intersection of these imaginary lines.

Puzzle one:

Puzzle two:

Puzzle three:

Answers: (reveal by using your mouse to highlight the area below)

Puzzle one - red
Puzzle two - pink
Puzzle three - red

That was fun, wasn't it?

The Hangover: in-depth DVD review

Well I suppose it wasn't that bad, but after so many glowing reviews (and given that it's billed as a comedy) I expected to laugh at least once. I don't think I even smirked. A dearth of mirth.

In other news, Dean Green wishes to announce his retirement.

It is no joke

I went out this morning, risking life and limb and dry clothing, to panic buy some cornflakes. One of the perks of my job is having a four wheel drive company vehicle, which certainly comes in handy every twenty years or so, and this enabled me to negotiate the four inch shelf of fluffy snow that had built up around the tyres. Being of a practical bent, I took with me a shovel, a sleeping bag and a note to my loved ones in case the worst came to itself.

I saw the first casualty before reaching the end of my road. The postman lay stricken on the pathway, frozen solid in a semi-recumbent stoop. I removed myself from the relative safety of my Ranger’s cab, fighting the flakes and fearing it was too late, but fortunately it transpired that he was just tying his shoelace. To save him the hazardous trip up the steps to my flat, I relieved him of an envelope containing my Clubcard coupons. We embraced; it was a touching moment indicative of our community’s siege mentality.

The horrors that befell me on the remainder of my journey will stay with me well into next week. Abandoned vehicles cloaked in frost, screaming children buried up to their ankles. Their minds lost to the hopelessness of their predicament, primal instinct came to the fore as they threw frozen projectiles at each other’s heads. I had to shield my eyes as I passed them at 40 miles per hour.

I had taken a hell of a chance on the supermarket being open, but my bravery had been rewarded. This was stiff upper lipness at its very finest. It was clear, though, that my optimism wasn’t shared by everyone as a good half dozen of the thousand or so parking spaces remained vacant. There was still a chance that I would find the shelves empty of course; supply vehicles may not have been as fortunate in their journey as I had. Again, my luck was in as I claimed the last but twenty box of cereal. But this was no time for complacency: I rushed to the tills and paid for my goods, exchanging a minimum of pleasantries with the pay me girl who looked like she’d had enough of the beeps. My haste was such that I forgot to redeem the Clubcard voucher I had liberated from the postman.

On the journey home I didn’t want to risk seeing any more people in distress, so I kept my eyes closed all the way. It was just was well; judging by the number of stray cars I hit, conditions had really deteriorated.

The relief of being back in the warmth of my flat was even greater than I had expected. I still had my life, and had gained some cornflakes. It was a good ten minutes before I realised that I was out of milk.

The Man In The Bowler Hat

I found a poem in my inbox this morning, sent to me by a work colleague. The subject line read: 'I saw this and thought of you'.

The Man In The Bowler Hat

I am the unnoticed, the unnoticeable man:
The man who sat on your right in the morning train:
The man you looked through like a windowpane:
The man who was the colour of the carriage, the colour of the mounting
Morning pipe smoke.

I am the man too busy with a living to live,
Too hurried and worried to see and smell and touch:
The man who is patient too long and obeys too much
And wishes too often and seldom.

I am the man they call the nation’s backbone,
Who am boneless – playable catgut, pliable clay:
The Man they label Little lest one day
I dare to grow.

I am the rails on which the moment passes,
The megaphone for many words and voices:
I am graph, diagram,
Composite face.

I am the led, the easily-fed,
The tool, the not-quite-fool,
The would-be-safe-and-sound,
The uncomplaining bound,
The dust fine-ground,
Stone-for-a-statue waveworn pebble-round.

A.S.J. Tessimond

My colleague didn't say whether it was a warning or an observation. He didn't need to.