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Archive for June, 2013

Just when you thought all you had to worry about was GM food the news comes that GM babies will soon be rolling off the production line.

Apparently it’s all to do with unhealthy mitochondria, the substance that gives the body energy.  According to the BBC website: ‘Defective mitochondria affect one in every 6,500 babies. This can leave them starved of energy, resulting in muscle weakness, blindness, heart failure and death in the most extreme cases.’

The government has backed recommendations by the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority (HFEA) that will alleviate this problem and help up to 10 (ten) couples a year.  In practice this means that a baby manufactured this way would have DNA from 3 people.  It’s not yet know if the birth certificate will be redesigned to reflect the new status: Father, Mother, and DNA contributor would be my suggestion.

This is hot on the heels of the government redefining the legal and dictionary definition of marriage, but presumably not God’s. I wonder what He thinks of designer babies, designed by someone other than Him?

 

 

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Supergrass?

Grass, snitch, blabbermouth, whistle-blower, canary, informant, nark, rat, sneak, weasel.

All of the above are terms of abuse for people who betray other people to yet other people in some kind of  authority position.

Let’s face it we’ve all done it: ‘Please Miss, Joe Bloggs has just said a rude word.’ or, ‘Please Sir, Peggy Sue stuck her tongue out at me.’ *

And perhaps some of us have not done it when we should have done. When we’ve witnessed some anti social act, or seen someone being bullied, or even something far more serious, when we’ve just let it slide, fooled ourselves into thinking that we didn’t really see what we know we did.

Every week I regularly see untaxed cars on the road. It’s the same cars week in, week out. Parked outside the owner’s homes. One of them has a tax disc that expired December 2012, another March 2013, while the third doesn’t have a tax disc at all.

I could have reported them by now, but haven’t, and I wonder why. It could be done anonymously, nobody would ever know.

Maybe it’s because I know the tax authorities already know; they certainly knew when I failed to file my SORN (Statutory Off Road Notification) and hit me with a £40 fine. If they can’t be bothered about it – why should I?

And yet it bugs me. Every time I see these vehicles I feel a surge of annoyance that these people are getting away with it. I really must ring in and report them, mustn’t I?

 

 

 

 

 

 

*Other stereotypical names are available.

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For some people it’s the dentist. You know that irrational fear? You come over all cold and clammy at the very thought of sitting in that chair and hearing the words, ‘open wide please.’

Well for me the words are, ‘just tip your head back mate,’ and the chair is the barbers.

When I was 5 or thereabouts my granddad (yes the same one that could have had an OBE but didn’t) took me to the barbers on Beeston Road in Leeds, where he had his hair cut. We parked up outside on the main road and entered the strictly male environment of the early 60s barbershop.

Inside it was packed with men and boys waiting their turn to be given the regulation short back and sides. I don’t think I was having my hair cut on this occasion, I was just there with my granddad, presumably to give my mum a break.

All was well for a while until it was my granddad’s turn. He sat in the chair, the barber did his business with the cape and the towel, started combing and cutting. So far, no problem.

After a few minutes of snipping the door opened and there stood framed in the doorway was a huge policeman. He looked around, crossed over to my granddad and said something to him. I watched with interest, then horror as my granddad got out of the chair and followed the policeman out of the door.

I honestly thought he’d been arrested mid hair cut and my only remedy was to scream and howl the place down. Everything stopped; the barbers all turned and looked at me, the customers in the queue looked at me, eyes in the mirrors looked at me. I didn’t care and nothing could stop me.

After a minute or two someone muttered something and everybody started laughing. It quickly became a competition; the more they laughed the more I howled; the more I howled the more they laughed. Eventually of course my granddad returned muttering something about having to move the car and being lucky not to get a ticket. The instant I saw him I stopped crying and everybody stopped laughing. He bought me some sweets on the way home and everything was fine.

Years later in my mid twenties I went to a barbers in Rugby and didn’t realise straight away that the barber was worse the wear with drink. Not falling over blind drunk but drunk enough that when I got home and looked in the mirror you could definitely tell that my hair was longer on one side than the other. I started going to unisex hairdressers after that and never had any more trouble.

My granddad with his daughter, my mum.

My granddad with his daughter, my mum.

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