On Monday morning, an important metric was attained. Getting a frothy coffee at the Gay Little Cafe on the way to work, I noticed that for the first time in a month or so, the froth was staining the tips of my moustache. The attainment of this metric invariably marks the arrival of something unimportant, and the continuation of something insignificant. I'm not sure what. (Certainly nothing to do with me needing to trim my beard.
Other important metrics include: the colour and amount of grot beneath my fingernails, the number of times I scratch behind my ear during the day, and the quantity of little paper bags that I on occasion find in my own backpack, left over from this lunch or that snack.
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Tim, your links stink, you fink!
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Email: timhtrain - at - yahoo.com.au
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3 comments:
I remain adamantly Imperial in my measurements and will always do so with jocund hypernuancity and consequent equilibirious solicitude. The ubiquitous shadow of Metric will never dim my weights, or measures, or volumes. Inches of dishwasher slop and goo and nasty detrital bits shall never becomes centimetres. The belly button fluff collected in the jar on my mantel piece shall always be in ounces, never grams or kilograms. I will fight them on the beaches, I shall bite them on the raw exposed parts of their arrogance...I will never be defeated. Imperial will rule forever!
yours,
Peter Purt-Potterfield
Firkins, ounces, farthings, quarts, gallons, furlongs, perches, roods, acres - imperial measurements have a lot to recommend them, not the least their wonderful names.
Bathe.Repeat,
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