Water shock

For argument’s sake, lets say I am 75kg, just under 12 stone (or 168 pounds, good afternoon American readers ) and that 70% of that weight is water (a conservative estimate) which comes in at about 52 kg or, in fact 52 litres. A large bottle of Volvic is 1.5 litres, I therefore have about 35 bottles of water in me, or one bottle short of six 6packs of the type that you get at the supermarket.

If I could be dehydrated and rehydrated prune-like , at my destination, then I could arrange for my transportation in a handy 23kg pack carried by a friend or relative on a major airline, but not Ryan Air where it would be cheaper for me to buy a ticket and travel full of H2O.

Wedged Up

There is much fear about. It could be that of terrorism (although I personally don’t know anyone with that particular type), being poor (quite popular), worrying what people will think (I suppose I have that, but I am better able to recognise it in others), getting ripped off; that’s quite a personal one. People are easily vexed when they think that they have lost something rightfully their’s. Their concern is not really about losing the thing in question, it is a very primal thing, to do with clans and hierarchies and finding a mate, an so on. If you want to be sure that a tiger will track you down and eat you, apparently you help yourself to one of his kills. I saw a documentary recently where a miserable Siberian had done just that. So convinced were people of his fate that they wouldn’t let him stay in their houses. Sure enough, several days and miles later, his remains were found strewn about his camp-site.

I am in the supermarket, in the queue at the checkout. The person in front of me has loaded their gear on to the conveyer belt and I am starting to fill the space that is left. Check out what happens when you fail to place on of those “next customer please” doofers in the gap between his super size bottles of diet coke and your goats’ milk yogurt. You don’t have to wait long before he will slap one of those plastic wedges on to that rubber as though I’d just helped myself to few glugs of his low fat fizzy drink.

Does my failure to have positioned the plastic toblerone symbolise the fact that I might be about to grab his wench by the hair, and drag her, kicking and screaming, back to my cave. Mister, are you seriously that worried that you might accidentally pay for my daily portion of friendly bacteria? No, we are in fact talking about a hunter-gatherer-territory thing!

I suppose we should be thankful for those small wedges otherwise people would be micturating over their messages.