So.
Those of us who have been paying attention have realized that certain corners of Nature Network have been getting very excited about something called a ‘”meme”:http://network.nature.com/tags/martinmeme’. This is not, as I first thought, a small but significant rodent indigenous to the lush rainforests of Northumbria: rather it is some sort of virus that try as you might to stop it just keeps spreading.
A bit like like ‘Big Brother’ but without the shining wit.
But rather than get into a mass debate about the pros and cons of such -self indulgent wank-knobbery- noble endeavours, I went out into the streets of Sydney to get a vox populus.
As luck would have it, I happened to chance upon Miss Edith Knut, spinster of this parish, as she performed her daily constitutional. After mollifying the young constable (whose uniform, unfortunately, will not be the same again, no matter which dry-cleaner he takes it to), I was able to ask Ms Knut a few searching questions. The interview is more or least verbatim.
1 What is your blog about?
He’s a very nice boy. I’ve house-trained him well and he very rarely craps on the carpet now.
2 I said ‘blog’, not ‘do’–oh, never mind. What will you never write about?
A week last Thursday.
3 Okayyy… Have you ever considered leaving science?
Leave it young man? I’d chased it three times round the block while you were still in nappies.
4 What would you do instead?
Come upstairs and I’ll show you.
5 Eh, maybe not. What do you think will science blogging be like in 5 years?
Even better! You’re only as young as the man you feel, I say!
6 Quite. What is the most extraordinary thing that happened to you because of blogging?
Well, when I was younger, I was quite sought after by certain young men you know, and
(This part of the interview has been turned into a screenplay and the rights sold to a production company in Fyshwick, Canberra.)
7 Did you write a blog post or comment you later regretted?
Non, je ne regrette rien. Are you free tonight?
8 When did you first learn about science blogging? (What time?)
My mother taught me. We had to make our own entertainment in those days. ‘Always make sure you get the young man’s name and address’ she said. If you come a little closer I’ll show you what I can do with a fishslice and three cups of oatmeal…
9 What do your colleagues at work say about your blogging? No, ow, stop, please, help, that hurts POLICE HELP!
The stitches come out next Tuesday.
Best one yet. So informative!
I had to google ‘fishslice’. You crazy Brits and your weird cutlery.
Anyone who found the fishslice to be the weird part of that post has no right to call other people crazy 😉
Excuse me, Madam, but does this bus go to the station? It doesn’t? Look, there’s no need to take that tone with me.
‘fishslice’ is now beginning to look very odd to me.
What do you people call it?
Harold. Harold the Fishslice. Makes perfect sense to me.
Good old Wikipedia!
Oh, is that what it is…
(Notice how under “Related Utensils” on the Wikipedia page it says “Hamburger”. I do love the internet.)
The thing on the Wikipedia entry is clearly a spatula, not a fish slice.
This is a fish slice.
The two were always distinct in our house!
Isn’t that just a cake knife? This is more confusing than pants and trousers.
No, totally the wrong shape for a cake knife.
Besides, it’ll have fish oil on it. Bleh.
Since we’re on the ‘cultural differences’ topic here, as touched on over on Jenny’s blog as well (now, if someone could show me how to link to Eva’s comment on having to perform in a bar…), I wonder whether anyone has come across this – I highly recommend it. It explains a lot about different mentalities and this cultural thing.. (she says, pointing her index finger repeatedly at her forehead).
Monkey slice, Steffi?
Richard, did you ever eat gravel, by any chance?
Chuck Norris doesn’t eat gravel.
He eats rocks.
I go away for a few days…
Delightful. I suppose Ms. Knut was by that point too worked up to recite poetry, though. Even a limerick.
I didn’t hang around to find out, Heather.
Throws rock….
eats rock
wraps in paper….
stomps on the crunchy bits