On the tip of your tongue.

We're all familiar with Peter Piper and his peck of pickled peppers, the wood chucking woodchuck and the pheasant plucker. Tongue twisters which are relatively easy to master and give us a sense of achievement when we do. But, here are some tongue twisters to really give your tongue a hernia, coutesy of the maestro of the tongue himself, Mr. Danny Kaye.

Okay, take a deep breath. Ready? Begin!

Moses supposes his toeses are roses, but Moses supposes erroneously. For Moses he knowses his toeses ain't roses that Moses supposes his toeses to be.

How did you go? That was a simple one just to warm you up. Ready for the next one?

Now, Kissle will whistle at busty Miss. Russell who'll rustle and bustle till Kissle will roar, so Russell asked Axle for Kissle's dismissal and this'll teach Kissle to whistle no more.

Okay, your tongue should be pretty limber by now. Let's continue.

Tito and Tato were tattooed in total, but Toto was only tattooed on his toes, so Tato told Tito where Toto was tattooed but Tito said Toto's tattoo wouldn't show.

That's the easy part over. You might want to call in a physiotherapist for the next lot.

Theda thought Thora was thumping her thimble but Thomas thought Thora was thumping her drum, so if Theda thought Thora's not thumping her thimble, I think that she surely is thumping her thumb.

Coming up is the assault course, so I'll let you catch your breath before we continue.

Okay, times up! Ready, set, go!

Now, Charley is chary when choosing his cheeses and cheese is a challenge when Charley arrives. When Charley is charming and chooses a cheddar then chews it and chips it and chops in some chives.

Heda is hoping to hop to Tahiti to hack a hibiscus to hang on her hat. Now, Heda has hundreds of hats on her hatrack, so how can a hop to Tahiti help that?

Warning! The next section should only be attempted by professionals or serving members of the SAS.

Snobby Miss. Nora is sniffing her snuffer, the snuffer’s no sniffing it makes Nora sneeze. When Snyda lets Nort know his Nora is sneezing, she snappily snorts Nora’s sneezing a breeze.

Sheila is selling her shop at the seashore for shops at the seashore are so sure to lose, and she’s not so sure of what she should be selling. Should Sheila sell seashells or should she sell shoes?

Did you survive? Or does your tongue feel like it's pulled it's muscle? Not to worry. Keep practising these until you get them down pat, and you'll be able to amaze your friends with your dexterity.

In the beginning ...

... there was an amorphous blob of melted lard wishing everyone a happy New Year.

Felice Navidad.

Dance like no one is watching.

Something to make you smile.

Just a minute.

You know when somebody comes up to you seeking your assistance with something, and they ask if you've got a minute and you say, "Yeah, sure", what happens to that minute?

Is it lost forever? Are our lives shortened by all those minutes we've given away? Should we be asking for minutes from other people so we can recoup our losses, and thereby balance the books? And who do we ask for our minutes back? The person who originally took yours, or will anybody do? Can we claim interest on minutes that haven't been repaid in a timely fashion, say for every minute owed we get one minute and six seconds back?

Was just wondering.

What kind of sauce would you like on that?

This is a tale about a barbecued leg. Not a leg of lamb or beef as one might expect, but a leg of Wood; John Wood, to be precise.

In 2004, John Wood of South Carolina, U.S.A., was in a plane crash. His injuries were such that doctors were forced to amputate his leg. Being somewhat (up until that time, at least) attached to his leg, Mr. Wood asked that he keep the limb and get it embalmed and preserved, so that when he finally shuffles off this mortal coil he could be cremated as a complete set (Some assembly required). Apparently, he was able to find an obliging mortician, and get the procedure done.

Next comes the problem of where to keep the leg. I have no idea what was going on in Mr. Wood's head, but he finally decided to put the appendage inside a barbecue, which he subsequently moved into a self-storage unit. It hasn't really been explained how he came to that decision, so I'm going to go out on a limb here and offer the following possible scenario.

Mr. Wood comes home clutching his leg to his chest. Mrs. Wood takes one look and states categorically that she will not be living under the same roof as that. It was fine when it was attached to Mr. Wood, but now it would be just too freaky. To appease his wife, Mr. Wood takes the leg out to the garage thinking that at least out of sight, out of mind. Looking around for a safe place, he spies the barbecue, makes the mental "barbecue/leg" connection, and voila! Problem solved. Except that Mrs. Wood sees what he has done, and puts her foot down, saying that she doesn't want his leg anywhere near the house, and that he can also get rid of the barbecue as she sure as hell wasn't ever going to eat anything cooked on that. So to keep the peace - and the piece - and his legs together, more or less, Mr. Wood hits upon the notion of a self-storage unit.

This appears to be a satisfactory arrangement until Mr. Wood allows the lease payments on his storage unit to lapse. The owner of the facility, in order to recoup his losses, seizes all of Mr. Wood's possessions, including the barbecue housing the Wood leg, and proceeds to have what amounts to a garage sale. Along comes Shannon Whisnant who purchases the barbecue and takes it home. I can imagine his surprise when he discovered it came with an extra leg.

At first, Mr. Whisnant didn't want any part of the leg, nor any other body part, for that matter, so he hot-footed it over to the phone and called in the long arm of the law to take it away. But, being a small town, news about the unusual find quickly got around and people started legging it over to Mr. Whisnant's place to check out the leg. Seeing what he considered a golden opprtunity, and not one to look a gift leg in the shin, Mr. Whisnant decided to display the leg for Halloween - at a price. $3.00 per adult, $1.00 per child.

Naturally, word soon reached the ears of Mr. Wood, who understandably wanted his appendage back as he didn't feel complete without it. Mr. Whisnant refused to toe the line, and the leg suddenly became a bone of contention. Mr. Wood was hopping mad, and for three years they kicked the question of ownership through the courts. Eventually it was decided that, LEGally speaking, Mr. Whisnant didn't really have a leg to stand on, and the limb should be returned to its original owner.

And no, I'm not pulling your leg. This story is true.

Things That Make You Go Hmmmm ...

This happened quite some time ago, but it has given me pause every now and then.

The highway at the end of our street is usually heavy with traffic and at certain times can be almost impossible to enter, let alone cross over to go in the other direction. To facilitate the people who live in the streets running off the highway, there is a side road which allows access; what they call a service road. With the help of the mud map on the left, I'll try and explain what happened on this day.

My normal practice, when approaching the highway from our street, is to pull up at the stop sign, make sure no one is coming down the service road, then proceed across the service road, stop where the blue "X" is and wait until there is a sufficient break in the traffic to allow me onto the highway. All done in a reasonably fluid motion.

On this particular day, for some reason I stopped at the stop sign and stayed there, even though nothing was coming down the service road. I must have sat there for at least half a minute before realising where I was. I thought to myself "What am I sitting here for?" and prepared to move off when a car driving along the highway suddenly locked its brakes and skidded into the spot where I would normally have been sitting waiting. It quickly became obvious that the woman driving the other car had realised she was going to miss the turn off and had slammed on her brakes in an attempt to still make it. All I could think of was that where she had stopped her slide was where I would have been if, for some reason, I hadn't been sitting at the stop sign daydreaming.

It makes you wonder, doesn't it?

Ratatouille.

S, E and I went to the movies last night and saw Ratatouille, the latest offering from the Disney/Pixar studios. A terrific movie!

It's a tale about Remy, a rat with big ideas of becoming a cook. Strange, I know. I mean, when you think about it, you couldn't have two more diametrically opposed ingredients; rat and food. Not a good combination you would think. But Disney has pulled it off with aplomb.

The characterisations are fabulous, with wonderful vocal performances by Ian Holm, Peter O'Toole, Patton Oswalt, Janeane Garofolo, Lou Romano, Brian Dennehey and Pixar stalwart, John Ratzenberger. Add to the mix Pixar's usual excellent animation, a well structured storyline, a lively score, and you are served up a feast that is sure to satisfy even the most critical appetite.

This is by far the best animated feature I have seen in a long time. There are some periods of the film where the background movement and scenery almost takes away from the main action, it is that realistic. The storyline might be a little old for young children, but there is a generous helping of slapstick with will serve to hold their attention. For we older children, there's a good message in there, as well. Certainly worth going to see.

Oh! By the way ...

... I'd like to draw your attention to my new blog, "Writing The Image". It's a new attempt to get me back into the habit of writing, and although it's early days, I think it might be the kick start I need.

Please do visit.

Pipe dreams.

QUIT, the anti-smoking, anti-cancer council, announced yesterday that they had a proposed time line for the total banning of cigarettes here in Australia. They stated that by 2017, they hope to see legislation brought in that bans the use of tobacco in this country. It's already illegal in most States and Territories to smoke inside public venues. They just want to increase the boundary.

A commendable vision, but not one that I see as actually being achievable. After all, didn't they try this with alcohol in the U.S.? And that really worked. I can see it now. Couples, slipping down side alleys, knocking at unmarked doors with slits in them so someone inside can look out and see who it is. The door opens and a huge man grants them entry into the clandestine smoke pit.

Sigh.

I don't think so.

And it would be a real pain for those people who are smokers at the time the ban takes effect. It could be bloody expensive, too.

A man walks out his front door, calling to his wife.

"Be back soon, honey."

"Where are you off to?"

"Just nipping over to New Zealand for a quick puff. Want me to get anything for you?"