Is there no end to the properties of this humble product?

“When I feel the first tingle of a cold sore I put peroxide on it and I don’t remember the last time I actually has a cold sore that fully developed.”

Having laid on a coat of sealer, followed by two coats of paint, followed by another coat of sealer, thicker this time, and another two coats of paint, and then yet another coat of paint, which has left a slightly less violently yellow stain than before, I came across this gem, online:

“Fill a spray bottle with diluted peroxide (2 to 1 with water). Spray the stained area. Allow the area to dry. You may have to do this twice to remove the stain entirely.”

So, curing all known lurgies isn’t the only thing that magical liquid can do.

I met your neighbours as I was leaving this morning. They asked if I was your new tenant. I explained who I was, and Anne nodded, looking pained, saying she thought she remembered me. Probably, she had had a fleeting mental glimpse of me hammering the final nails into the treehouse this time last year!

… with all the other salarymen.

According to these guys (www.housepricecrash.co.uk/graphs-bubble-lifecycle.php) “this is the DNA of a bubble. As the months and years progress we should be able to track the UK housing market as it follows it’s path along much the same route as this chart. At the time of writing (Feb 2008) I would say that we are in the ‘Denial’ stage. Make sure you are strapped in tightly and get ready for the ride!”

An extensive article explaining why we should all go barefoot

nymag.com/health/features/46213/

Those who can’t might like to invest in a pair of these

At the crematorium for the happily offbeat funeral of a Liverpool supporting acquaintance, whose ashes are to be scattered at Anfield, I had listened contentedly to Hey Jude, Let it be, Imagine, and We’ll never walk Alone, crashing out of the disco sized speakers; and I was just settling down to absorb the nugget strewn ‘readings’ from various family members when I was horrified to hear, during a particularly quiet, pensive moment, the tinny sound of the William Tell overture ringing out from some idiot’s mobile phone.

Mortified to realise the noise was coming from somewhere within the folds of the heavy, sombre coat I was wearing to cover up the fact that my best and only suit trousers had been eaten by moths, it took me long, agonising moments of perspiration inducing self-loathing to extract the offending article from a squashed inner pocket and stab the switch off buttons.

In a Larry David nightmare I would of course have answered the phone in a loud voice and said that although I was at a funeral I was all ears and couldn’t wait to hear whatever the caller wanted to tell me. As it was, I had to shut my eyes for the next five minutes and simply pretend I was somewhere else.

Although this was a moment of sheer horror, as somebody said afterwards, the man in the coffin would have loved it!