I hope this sets off a whole chain of people posting pictures of their truly weird hands.

For what it's worth my own right hand has bad arthritis, every finger is wonky in its own special way, also the thumb. And I'm old, so it's all veiny and speckled with liver spots. No, you're not getting a photo.

Reality check: New Zealanders are leaving New Zealand in record numbers.

https://www.theguardian.com/world/article/2024/jun/12/new-zealand-cost-of-living-pressures-record-people-leaving-australia

Hah! In Scotland we dip pizza in batter and deep fry it. With a deep-fried Mars bar for afters.

https://www.glasgowlive.co.uk/news/glasgow-news/five-glaswegian-chip-shop-delicacies-11462402

Struwwelpeter. We had an English copy handed down by my grandfather. It's insane.

Example: "Die gar traurige Geschichte mit dem Feuerzeug ("The Very Sad Tale with the Matches"): A girl plays with matches, accidentally ignites herself and burns to death. Only her cats mourn her."

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Struwwelpeter

Is this the first Nobel laureate to run a country? How bloody amazing. Well done Mexico!

I know a young man who headed back to India for an arranged marriage. I expressed my extreme surprise that he would agree to marry someone he'd never met, and he said he trusted his parents to choose someone compatible. "After all, they know me better than anyone else." I remain baffled, honestly. He seems an otherwise savvy, modern person. But there you go, happy to commit to a stranger.

I dread to think what kind of bloke my parents would have picked for me...

"You can love the company as much as you like, but the company will never love you back." - My dad.

Growing up we had a coal fire in the sitting room and a coal range in the kitchen. The range was a wet-back, so it heated water as well. Lovely and cosy in the winter but sweltering in the summer. We had a special coal shed. The coalman would carry big sacks of coal in on his shoulder and empty them into the bin. Coal on one side, firewood and kindling on the other. Mum had the knack of setting the flues just so at night to bank the fire, so that in the morning it just needed a couple of sticks of kindling on the embers to get it going again.

The range was a bastard to cook on. The spot directly over the firebox was hottest. If you needed it even hotter you could lift a cover off - it had a second ring outside that for bigger pans. Moving along from the hot spot towards the chimney were cooler sections. For the lowest heat you moved the pan to the back. There was so much shuffling around! And don't get me started on the oven. And the constant film of soot, the gusts of ash when you shovelled in coal from the scuttle. Gross. I love my induction hob and electric oven.

https://youtu.be/limwsUnH4iQ?feature=shared

Regular teabags are sometimes made using non-biodegradable plastic - be sure to buy those made with this starch based plastic. When I first saw biodegradable teabags I was surprised, I thought teabags were made of paper. Not so, it turns out.

A long-dead cat for your pleasure. She arrived on my doorstep a starving kitten; after extensive travel in New Zealand she went to live in Canada, where she apparently lived to a ripe old age.

I actually knew someone who died of that parrot disease. Psittacosis? He caught it off a budgie.

Here it is: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Psittacosis

Ha ha, yes, they are such entitled hedonists these days, not like the Borgias for example...