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I was looking at piano videos on YouTube before, and came across this comment:

when i play the beet is inside of my heart.

Which is rather touching, and also physically improbable. It makes me wish I could draw, because then I would draw someone playing the piano, all black and white except for their heart, dark red with a leafy green top.

Speaking of physically improbable, this week's How To Treat in the medical newspaper we get at work is How To Treat... Fingernail Discolouration. How bad could that be?, I thought as I turned the page. I was so innocent, f-list. Page after page of hideous, weirdly coloured fingernails. Yellow, green, red, brown, blue. Generally speaking, the yellow and green ones were caused by fungus or bacteria, the red and brown ones were cancerous and the blue ones were caused by eating too much silver.

Some people have a naturally occurring brown stripe down their fingernails, which looks very groovy. But! Under that was a photo of an almost identical brown stripe that suddenly appeared on someone's nail, and next to that was a photo of the same finger with the nail removed to reveal a melanoma. So: lifelong stripe, interesting conversation starter; suddenly appearing stripe, harbinger of death. Remember that.

Some people have a condition called Benign Racial Pigmentation, which means that the skin under their nails is a different colour to everywhere else. What a saving on nail polish.
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I burnt myself yesterday in a tragic laminating accident. The ancient laminator at work overheated and melted a document to its rollers and our new office girl asked me how to fix it. I couldn't do that, because it is completely cactus, as they say. (Er, do you say that? Or is this a quaint little colloquialism?) Anyway, in taking the laminator apart to determine its state of cactusicity, as they don't say, my arm somehow rested itself on a hot piece of metal. Foolish arm. I ran cold water over it for a minute or so and then put some papaw ointment on it, and when I got home I planned to put some aloe vera on it and maybe cover it up. Only I currently have former Sister Pauline of the Royal District Nursing Service staying with me and she pooh-poohed my aloe vera idea. She rummaged through my bathroom cabinet and found an old piece of Tegaderm (a transparent medical dressing like a second skin), which she reinforced with some silicon tape I didn't even know I had. It's done the job. The original irritated area was about 8cm in diameter, and it's down to just the deepest part of the burn now, just 3cm in diameter. The enormous dressing looks like overkill.

Something I have enjoyed about having my mother stay with me is how much pleasure she gets from the way this man pronounces the word 'hose'. Every time that ad is on (which is often), she goes into an extended riff along the lines of 'who knows, he'll fix your hose woes, foes'. It's like living with Fox in Socks.

What else? Oh, the blue book I saw the other day? Was this. Part of a major new trilogy for 9 to 12 year olds. I do like the cover.

Finally, this is the cartoon in this week's medical newspaper:

The shocking truth about monkey bars )

Is that true? Are there doctors reading that, chuckling and thinking it's funny because it's true? At last, they think, someone acknowledges that monkey bars are the deadliest playground equipment! Maybe I was a particularly dense child, but I could never really work out what to do with monkey bars. The few times I used them, I just sort of hung there, wishing I'd gone on the swing instead.
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Update on John's prop knife-throwing machine:

The knife-throwing machine turns out to be the board that the knives get thrown into. You know the set-up: the volunteer stands in front of a board and the knife-thrower throws the knives in a silhouette around her. Only what happens with the knife-throwing machine is that the knife-thrower and the volunteer are side-on to the audience, so he throws his knives (stage knives, I assume) past the board where they land harmlessly and silently on a cushion in the wings. Meanwhile, someone backstage pushes a button and pre-installed knives pop out of the board.

It's working like a charm, except when John demonstrated it to Mum (with her standing foolishly bravely in front of the board) he installed the knives the wrong way so the blades popped out around her. As she pointed out, the audience won't believe the knives landed in the board handle-first. I find it odd that health and safety regulations have a lot to say about exploding sewing machines, but are silent about knife blades being shot out of boards.

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