Re: Health Warning

My last offering, the post entitled “Health Warning”, has attracted a little spam e-mail which I couldn’t resist bringing here. I have a fairly ruthless attitude toward spam, I generally delete it immediately, but this one caught my eye because of a piece of poor spelling. I wonder just what a “juice fact” is and why would it take 3-5 days?

 

Emma D
coloncleanse.netne.net
emmadawson@yahoo.com

Submitted on: 2009/04/19 at 11:10pm

One of the most important things I found out about colon cleaning is you MUST juice fact for 3-5 days to get the OLD stuff out of your system. Of course clear the fasting with your doctor first.

 

Well, thanks Em.. that’s very thoughtful of you.

On another note; I couldn’t help feeling a bit put out by the suggestion that my colon is in any way in need of clearing out. That usually gets done at least once a day while I take a look at the newspaper or read my paper mail. Guess what happens when I see pictures of politicians I don’t like.

Yep. I multi-task while I’m on the toilet.

I reckon my colon is in good order. I can fart like an elephant too (just ask my wife) and, while I’m on the subject, my ex, several campers and the entire population of the island of Møn, is still talking about the anal explosion that shook the earth several years ago. I’ve never heard a camping site go so quiet in the middle of the day. It was a real party stopper. My guts are OK.

I have no idea who Emma D. is or why she may be interested in the workings of my bowels, but hey, if you require some help in that general direction, drop her a line. Or should that be, dump her a line?

At least, she won’t be filling you with crap.

I left all the links here, so you could get quick and easy access. Have fun.

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Health Warning

It probably comes as no surprise to those that know me well, that I do not engage in anything that may be described as strenuous. This is primarily because I made myself a promise, on leaving the armed forces many moons ago, that I wasn’t going to run flat out for anything or anyone ever again. I live at a sedate pace. I walk with my dogs, I don’t run with them. I do not own a bicycle. I drive a car. Everywhere. I prefer to relax in my armchair than work my ass off in the garden and I eat what I like and smoke my pipe and drink beer. I also eat at least one Mars bar a day and have a well developed sweet tooth. I weigh 110 Kilograms, my blood pressure, measured last week, is 140 over 83. I have no idea what that means, but it is supposed to be around the ideal. Woo-hoo!
Beyond that, I get to go to work five days a week and that can be a regular work out in itself, every Monday to Friday. Physical activity is not my best, nor favourite, subject under life’s curriculum.

The health nuts don’t like me. I am seldom sick. I do not visit my doctor weekly. I do not suffer from depressions, nervous disorders, a dodgy ticker or anything else that my chosen lifestyle should cause me to suffer from. I am 56 years old this year and still going very strong, thank you. I have only been in hospital once in my life. For colic. I was twenty three at the time. A young and very fit soldier.

What’s this all about, you may ask? Well, I heard the news today and, once more, the nanny state do-gooders are about to infringe on my private life again. The latest suggestion from the oh-so concerned Social Democrat guardians of my welfare, whether I like it or not, is to have shops and supermarkets remove sweets and cigarettes from public view.
Sugar and smoke. The two single most deadly substances known to the green people. The fat crusaders have joined the fray along with the anti-smokers and the anti-drinkers, believing that by banning anything enjoyable, we shall all live forever.

Wonderful. More bloody nonsense from the anti-life brigade.

At the same time, though apparently not worthy of the same depth of coverage, the news also reported the finding of a jogger in someone’s drive. He was dead. He probably jogged himself to death. A form of suicide by which many have shuffled off the mortal coil of late, as the health nuts get us up out of our comfortable armchairs where we sit with our pipes full of poisonous weed and eat our sticky, heart clogging chocolate bars. Had this health fanatic been sharing my experience at the time, he would still be alive today. I don’t jog. I wouldn’t dream of it. My body is built for comfort, not speed. This guy just sped himself into an early grave. He was 57 years old. Strangely enough, the report didn’t mention whether or not this guy smoked, drank, ate sweets or just took his time to sit for a few hours a day, relax and ponder life’s complexities in silent pursuit of the inner peace that smoking my dreaded and, now proven, not so dangerous pipe brings me. I know what works for me, and physical exertion ain’t it. I’m in no hurry to overwork my vital body parts.

Here’s the thing. We’re all gonna die. You, me, my wife, my kids, your wife, your kids, your husband. The greens, the reds, the in betweens and the do-gooders. The criminals, the insane and the geniuses. All of us. The question is, how much you are going to enjoy yourself while you are able to enjoy yourself? I believe the content among us live longer than those who worry themselves over everything and, especially, on other’s behalf.

As I said somewhere else in a moment of inspiration, I don’t have a due by date stamped on my ass. I don’t know if I’ll be here tomorrow. So for now at least, I will enjoy what I like while I can. I may not live longer than you but I will have a good time of it while I’m here. If I do live longer than you, well, then I was right!

Now let’s see, pipe, tobacco, beer and a Mars bar. Yep, got it all. What’s on the TV?

Easter Sunset

My wife and I visited her parents during the Easter break. While not considering myself by any means a photographer, I just couldn’t help getting a shot or two of this stunning springtime sunset over Roskildefjord. This is part of the view from the beach, a stones throw away from my parents-in-law’s house.

 

 

Skinny Dipping with the Dogs

Spring is sprung. The temperature went up today and for the first time in a long time, I could feel the call of the wild. Well, actually not feel it, but the dogs have a good run of it over the winter and bath day has finally come round. I could really smell the call of the wild. They have started to shed hair for the summer and they have fur that holds all the crap they have run through in the last few days so it was high time. Out with the big old plastic tub then and into the shower.

The dogs, being dogs, have a sixth sense about all this. They may just remember it from Christmas time, which was the last bath day but they were definitely suspicious. The bigger one went and hid under the dining table, the smaller under our bed. Guess which one is the brighter of the two.

Experience tells me that getting a dachshund into water isn’t easy unless it stinks like a swamp. They’ll go happily into that. But if it smells like shampoo, they’re not much for it. So the process starts with me getting naked while the tub fills up. Then I catch the dogs one at a time. Starting with the larger of the two, I got going. Getting her into the tub is a wrestling match from hell. Everything is a fight with her. She stands solidly on all four legs that are now transformed into concrete pillars and cooperation is the least likely thing to expect. Holding her firmly with one hand, I scrubbed with the other. She was constantly trying to escape this cruel fate, ready to go at the least sign of my left hand weakening. I swear, the dog is fitted with some kind of outboard motor. Nothing else could move that amount of water in so short a time. My wife, who treats the two canines as her babies, encouraged me by telling me that I was being too hard and not nearly gentle enough as I scrubbed three months of dirt out of the furry beast that was fighting my every move. The water was too hot, she said, I got soap in the dog’s eyes and ears, she said. I was way too rough, she said. The dog was beating the living daylights out of me. 
I was as wet as the dog and the water was freezing on my bare stomach and legs. And I can now speak from experience, dog shampoo does not sting your eyes.

Finally it was half time. One dog washed and one to go. The dog leapt from the tub, shook herself all over and ran off to the living room to roll on her rug. My wife followed with big fluffy towels. I drew breath and rounded up my new bathing partner. Refilling the tub, I got ready for round two.

The smaller dog is not really smaller. She is a few pounds lighter. Otherwise there isn’t much difference between them any more. However, she is a little easier to handle. She resigns herself to her fate. Bathing her was no big thing compared to the other. Which actually makes the process quicker and we were finished in no time. She too, shook herself all over the place and ran off to the living room looking for sympathy and towels and mum.

I stayed in the shower and washed myself. I was covered in dog hair. Once finished, I had to go find my own towel. The dogs were being dried with the usual battery of towels that hang in our bathroom.

By the time I got to the living room the dogs were out in the garden enjoying the sun and drying out by more natural means. Once again, I was told I was too hard on the dogs, not nearly gentle enough, uncaring, disrespectful and all things unholy. The dogs are avoiding me for now and I am considering whether or not I should take them for a reconciling walk and leave my good lady to clean up the bathroom or just do the clean up myself and be the bad guy for the rest of the day. I’ll probably take the walk.

Talk about a dog’s life!