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Spare him his life from this monstrosity

I didn’t think I’d manage it this long into 2007, but here we are 18 days in and I haven’t managed to hear Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody. For someone who channel hops on the car radio every time an advert comes on, that’s a damn impressive streak.

I’ve heard the over rated piece of crap so many bloody times since Freddie Mercury joined the choir unseen that I’m sure I could avoid it for five years and I’d still feel saturated by it. I am actually planning a two year Bohemian Rhapsody hiatus, but knowing that at any given moment, somewhere in the world, that fucking song is playing means that avoiding it for a month, let alone a year, is a major challenge.

What really pisses me off about Bohemian Rhapsody is the avoidance by association of other Queen songs, some of which I’m quite fond of. A Kind of Magic, One Vision, I Want It All, and the oft played I Want to Break Free are all far more worthy of my listening time than that wretched operatic train wreck that even a cranial enema couldn’t now flush from my head.

I’m going to be strict about it, too, and count anything longer than four seconds as a listen. So, should I hear any more than, say, “Mamaaaaa, just kill…” then that counts. If I accidentally hear one of the operatic parts then I’m cutting the limit to three seconds, because my reflexes should really be fast enough to switch off much beyond a single “scaramouch” or “fandango”.

However, “Any way the wind blows…” does not count as a listen – hearing that counts as a triumph because it means I fortuitously managed to avoid the five minutes and forty five seconds of nausea that preceed it.

Game on.

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All Froth And No Substance

At the weekend there I took the cappuccino maker that Fliss got me for xmas back for a refund. The dial on it had broken after only about five or six uses, which I took to be a sign of poor quality for something that cost quite a bit and I would expect to last a good couple of years.

I didn’t trust the build quality of the Breville enough to try another one of those – especially since the Breville kettle we bought last year already has a crack near the element, so I just asked for a credit note. I actually wouldn’t have minded trying one of the Tassimo ones instead, but Fliss thinks that the sachets are too expensive.

After reading through The Laminated Book of Dreams it turns out that there’s absolutely nothing in the same price range that I either want or need. Which is odd in itself, as just a few years ago I didn’t think that I could ever reach saturation point in the category of shiny gadgets for under £100.

Which leaves me feeling a little disappointed – Fliss got me a really thoughtful gift, which ticked all the right boxes in that it did something I liked, and was the kind of thing I couldn’t have justified buying myself, but was an ideal present. Ah well, maybe something will turn up in the next edition of the Laminated Book of Dreams… aside from the Scooby Doo costume that I almost came home with!

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The Razor’s Edge

I’ve used electric shavers pretty much since I first had to shave, and have upgraded only a couple of times along the way – most recently when I got a shaver I could use in the shower, back in October 2004. Whether it’s due to using electric shavers or not, I don’t know, but I suffer from the occasional trapped hair and it causes no end of grief when it happens. So, back in early December I thought I’d try wet shaving with a razor for the first time in a good ten years.

Last time I tried I royally, and I mean royally, messed it up. Despite getting myself the awesome King of Shaves lotion, I made schoolboy errors, like going against the grain, and I just about skinned myself alive. Afterwards I had rinsed away the blood from multiple cuts, slapped on copious amounts of Givenchy Gentleman aftershave, which I then got in my mouth as I tried to stifle the screams, and woke the next day with a face like the elephant man suffering an allergic reaction to peanuts. Ouch.

Needless to say, as soon as my skin had recovered I was back using the electric shaver again.

The truth is, I had no idea how to have a wet shave. My original father was gone long before he could show me how, and my stepfather has a beard, so he wasn’t much help. It’s not the kind of thing you ask your mates about when you’re a teenager, either. I mean, everybody knows how to shave, right?

And so it was that me learning how to wet shave just kind of fell through the cracks of life. Using an electric shaver, which somewhat limits the harm I can inflict upon myself, seemed the safe and sensible option.

With hindsight, that ill fated attempt back in the 90’s was due, in part, to me copying those ridiculous adverts by razor blade companies. You know – the ones that would have you believe the very ownership of one of those things increases your manliness exponentially, such is the sheer machismo that they attach to testosterone injected products with names like Mach 15 Extreme Turbo Dragonslayer 4.

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