Archive for the ‘Answer Us Back! Your time to opine’ Category

pot with Pop

May 16, 2012

CLICK HERE FOR AMT214

If you want some of the good stuff, Michael from Ealing knows someone who can get some for you:

With reference to Kevin’s dilemma about wanting to try cannabis – my dad said a very similar thing. However, he was 84 at the time. So, for his 85th birthday I gave him a joint. I was 55 at the time – yes, a child of the 60s, so had a tiny bit of previous! Nevertheless, hadn’t smoked in years, so I did have to source it from a young woman at work who I knew indulged (I run a funky kind of company). Anyway, I had the joy of getting stoned with my dad round the kitchen table. He didn’t know whether it was the joint or his ageing mind that made him keep forgetting things. But, boy, did we laugh!

He died four years later and I’m so glad I was able to fulfil one of his desires to fully experience the world before he went. I’m not advocating trying everything (now a venerable elder myself) and certainly the dope today is nowhere near as safe as it was, but experiencing life is what’s important as long as you don’t harm anyone or yourself. Mind you – that’s a huge debatable question in itself.

It is, it is – and if any of you want to debate that, you may use the comments as your own Model United Nations.

Meanwhile, does anyone else think that Michael’s story is perfect for a sweet multi-generation stoner comedy from one of Judd Apatow’s acolytes? Maybe with Christopher Plummer reprising his Beginners role as the dad, Tim Robbins as the son, Maggie Gyllenhaal as the dealer at work, and Paul Giamatti as the oddball neighbour who wants in on the action. Oh, and in the fictionalised version, Michael from Ealing also should have a strait-laced teenage son who disapproves (but, of course, comes around in the end when he sees how happy his grandpa is in his twilight years). Michael Cera’s a shoo-in.

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fountains of cash

May 9, 2012

CLICK HERE FOR AMT213

We’ve had a couple of bits of feedback on some slightly older episodes of AMT. Firstly, Stevie-Rhiannon and Tyler in Calgary pipe up:

During episode 207 you answered a question about the fountains in Trafalgar Square.

The pennies thrown into the water at “Its a Small World” in Walt Disney World are donated to the Make a Wish foundation and are cleaned out every six months. We both worked at EPCOT last year and have heard that the last amount gathered was over $1,000,000.

That is a very impressive and heart-warming fact! What a rare combo. However, Disney must somewhat benefit from the Make a Wish foundation, seeing as almost all the wishes are to go to Disney. I bet Disney also have stakes in a swimming-with-dolphins centre, just so they make a clean sweep.

Jessica from Launceston has a comment upon a longer-ago episode:

Do you remember episode 193 when you talked about “I Can’t Believe it’s not Butter”? Anyway, I was browsing the interwebs and found this:

I hope you find this significantly diverting.

Diverting indeed! I’m very taken by the idea of Schrödinger’s butter, although I’d worry that when I opened lid I’d find a dead cat inside.

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Aga incubator

May 2, 2012

CLICK HERE FOR AMT212

Ishbel from Kinross-shire is able to shed some light upon last week’s question about why Agas are so miraculous:

I grew up with an Aga. I realise that makes it sound like throughout my childhood it loved and fed me like a mother. This is accurate. There’s two hot plates and two ovens. Top oven is cooking central, bottom oven is cooler and heats plates, slow cooks meringues, dries kindling. You name it.

What you probably wouldn’t name is this next story. My friend’s grandpa was born at home, as was the wont of people a century ago. He was premature and seemed to be stillborn. The doctor had to tend to his dying mother and gave the dead baby to his granny to dispose of. She was ever the Victorian optimist and fed the baby brandy, wrapped him in cloths and put him in the bottom oven of their Aga, WITH THE DOOR CLOSED and looked after him there for A WEEK. When the doctor returned to check on the mother, the granny showed him the surviving baby in the oven and the doctor fainted. Said baby went on to live to nearly one hundred years old.

I believe that the young Australian lady will agree that this story quashes any reservations that she had about how boring Agas are. Maybe now she can ask her friends if they intend to use theirs to nurse back to life undead babies.

Gosh! Now I’d like to venture forth a new theory: that Jesus Christ was not laid to rest in the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea, but in the warming oven of an Aga. Of course the gospels changed ‘cast iron enamel door’ to a large stone, just to make it sound a bit more Biblical.

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“I lvovoveee youhjhkkfddssakwrffvzzzzzzzz”

May 2, 2012

You recall David from AMT212, the man who I advised against sending his crush a fake drunken text confessing his emotions? Here’s the next installment of his story:

In the end I didn’t send a soberly-made drunk text that I later regretted, mostly in part due to Helen’s accurate accusation that that would make me a dickhead. No. Instead I managed to send an actual drunk text in which I managed to simultaneously remind him that he was smarting from a recent breakup and also that I am apparently a bit of a loser.

He took it remarkably well, which only made it worse when I managed to send him a second drunk text not two nights ago saying almost exactly the same thing, except this time he didn’t reply. So basically…shit.

Answer me this: what should I do now? Pursue him one more time? Or learn to know when I’m beaten (albeit by my own idle thumbs)?

Firstly, install Drunkblocker on your phone.

Secondly, send him a brief SOBER email apologising for the drunk texts, explaining that you were nervous because you really like him, and then ask him out. On a date. A date for coffee or ice-cream or ANYTHING WITHOUT BOOZE IN IT. At this point you appear to have nothing to lose, so you might as well be honest about your feelings, and in doing so hopefully make some amends.

If he still does not respond, then you’re going to have to deploy your radar to find a new stealth gay. Unless readers have any better ideas? Go to the comments and help out David, and please, do not type whilst under the influence.

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I brake for hearses

March 21, 2012

CLICK HERE FOR AMT209

It seems a large number of you have ridden in hearses, despite being still alive! Apropos of our discussion of the funereal vehicles in AMT209, we’ve heard from Stephen from Greenock:

I play the bagpipes and in my student days made a good side-business piping at funerals. The one problem is I don’t drive. At one particular funeral, I asked the funeral director if I could hitch a lift in the hearse, as I’ve been known to do.

Most hearses are two drivers’ seats plus three behind, then the area for the coffin…but not this one. This has the two front seats (taken by the funeral director and priest) and a seat behind each of these. And instead of the third middle seat, the top end of the coffin went there. I therefore spent a very uncomfortable ten minutes sitting alone in this hearse at the church with the coffin (and within, the head-end of the deceased) right at my shoulder while the priest and funeral director chatted with mourners!

That, I would say, is an occupational hazard.

As we suspected, there’s a lively market for second-hand hearses, confirmed by Kevin:

During the summers my father was in college/university, he worked for a harpsichord builder who loved used hearses. You get them incredibly cheap because no one wants to be buried in a used one, they have very good suspension, and they already have rollers in the back for moving boxy wooden things about the size of a coffin or a harpsichord.

Very sensible! Far more so than the pre-owned hearse of Celeste from Elephant and Castle‘s acquaintance:

My uncle used to drive a hearse, in the 1970s or earlier. He is a bit of an eccentric, been a professional violinist since the age of nineteen, and has an interesting history of weird cars and motoring in general – buying a car without a reverse gear; leaving a jar of pickled gherkins in an old car of his, and having not screwed the lid on properly it leaked vinegar everywhere so he had to sell the car; and buying a gold-coloured Mercedes (to the horror of my aunt), as well as losing his license pretty much every year.

Back in his hearse days, I believe he was involved in a car crash (not his fault) and he, his now ex-girlfriend and her daughter suffered relatively few injuries because he was driving a hearse at the time, which was especially well padded/armoured/hardcore. So hearses are very safe – which seems a bit pointless as normally the people in the back are already dead.

Yes, but they are also in a big heavy wooden box, which could cause very comprehensive damage if it shot straight through an inadequate crumple zone. In a way, the death industry is foolishly protecting itself against getting extra work.

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continuity announcers: the inside scoop

March 6, 2012

CLICK HERE FOR AMT207

We love it when you people reveal your myriad jobs to us – maybe because how we pass our days can no longer be termed a ‘job’ – as Pete has done here:

My girlfriend was listening to AMT207 and told me that one of the topics of conversation was regarding the role of Continuity Announcers. Which is funny. As that’s what I do.

You seem pretty clued up about it all, but just to confirm, all main channels have live continuity announcements. Well, 1-4 definitely do; I’m not too sure about Channel 5.

Whilst a lot of digital channels have historically been pre-recorded, more and more of the larger ones (especially the entertainment ones, such as E4, BBC3, ITV2, etc) are now live during the evenings, to sound more immediate and “in-the-moment”. Since the advent of Twitter and what’s rather pretentiously known as “real-time water-cooler moments”, live announcing is more in-demand than ever.

And it’s not just talking on the telly that we do. Sometimes we make cups of tea too.

But of course – proper throat lubrication is essential in a profession requiring vocal excellence. Each cup of tea should be covered by some Occupational Health mandate.

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Caine crush

February 15, 2012

CLICK HERE FOR AMT204

Elisa sees my John Thaw enrapturement in last week’s episode, and raises:

I think I might win the age gap contest regarding celebrity crushes. I’ve been in love with Michael Caine for years. I first discovered my love for him in 2007 after the movie The Prestige – I was 19, and he was 74.

Eurghhh! Michael Caine at any age….shudder.

Readers, the gauntlet has thrown down. Are you able to beat Elisa’s age gap crush? Moreover, SHOULD you be able to?

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towel magic

February 9, 2012

CLICK HERE FOR AMT203

You might think towels are boring, but a little theatre can make them fun! As this email from Toby demonstrates:

Further to your discussion in AMT202 about the use of heated handtowels in Indian restaurants, I have a tepid towel-related question that I am sure will blow your minds…

Eating in an Indian restaurant recently, a bowl of what I thought were mints was placed on our table at the end of the meal. Just as I was about to gleefully pop one into my mouth (an action which would have, unbeknownst to me, surely led to a slow, suffocating death), a waiter appeared and poured hot water into the bowl. The small, white, spheres which were NOT mints suddenly expanded and revealed themselves to be rolled-up handtowels.

Answer Me This: what the Heston Blumenthal was going on?! Was this magic?

ENCROYABLE! Is that restaurant staffed by waiters, or SORCERERS? It’s the greatest towel-based show on Earth!

I don’t think it detracts too much from the towel-fun to explain that you can pack fabric down to very small volume when all the air is forced out of it: that’s the magic JML has been trading off for years, similarly those pellets you can buy at Muji that turn into a very wrinkly T-shirt.

That restaurant is very smart for choosing this towel showmanship, though: firstly, because it’s an impressive thing to do right before you hand somebody the bill; secondly, they can fit the entire evening’s towels in a shoebox; thirdly, it gives the diner the reassurance that their towel is virgin, freshly hatched in front of their eyes, never to have frotted the crevices of another curry fan.

The downside is, as you hint, the trail of death. Being suffocated by a towel you mistook for a Mint Imperial is not a noble exit from this plane.

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And wine not

January 24, 2012

CLICK HERE FOR AMT201

You sure can read a lot into those curved wine bottle bottoms. After last week’s speculation upon their reason/purpose, Dan tells us:

I have a sommelier mate, and according to her the curve in the bottom of the bottle is to help keep sediment in the bottom of the bottle.

It certainly sounds plausible. Meanwhile, nobody has been in touch to refute my assertion that a flat bottle bottom is as reliable an indicator of a rubbish wine as a picture of a high heeled shoe on the label.

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Ex-mas

December 14, 2011

CLICK HERE FOR AMT200

One question on last week’s episode struck a chord with Sam from Norfolk:

I am in almost exactly the same position as Matthew from the Wirral; I was with someone for 4 1/2 years, until she dumped me for another bloke in February of this year.

She was insistent that we stayed friends and so we gave it a go for a while. Although we have drifted apart over the last couple of months, I imagine that she may suggest meeting up, since we’ll both be at home for the festive period.

I am sorely tempted to ignore her to express my distaste for her actions but I don’t know if this is just acting childish and I should be able to be friends with her after 9 months.

I just wanted to show some solidarity with Matthew and perhaps gain some advice.

What more advice do you need, Sam, beyond Martin’s mum’s reverberating exhortation to “tell the drunken bitch where to go!”?

Unless you do feel genuinely friendly towards the infidel (and only friendly, with absolutely no traces of romantic yearning remaining), why bother? Meet up with some better friends over Christmas, ones who definitely didn’t want to be your friends just to assuage their guilt over ditching you for another chap.

Besides, all the successful ex-couples-who-are-now-friends of my acquaintance became so after a year or more of non-contact following the split; so if you really do want to be bezzie mates in the future, you’d do well this Christmas to barricade your door, screen your calls and do not listen to any Mud. Even though it is one of the best Christmas songs of all time.

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when is a pie not a pie?

December 7, 2011

this is a misprint, they meant 'pie'

CLICK HERE FOR AMT199

AMT198‘s debate continues over what exactly qualifies a combination of carbohydrate and filling to be called ‘pie’. Robert from Bedford:

According to my old cookery teacher when I was 9-11 years old, a pie has a wet/moist filling and a pastry has a dry/non-runny filling.

I continue to be unenlightened. David complicates matters still further:

Just listened to your latest missive, and thought I would chip in with a definition of a pie. I fully agree with Rule 3 of the British Pie Awards:

“All Pies in all classes of the British Pie Awards must comply with being ‘a filling totally and wholly encased in pastry’. Entries which do not comply, e.g. lattice-topped, fruit-topped, potato-topped etc, will not be submitted for judging.”

I have nothing against Fish Pie or Shepherd’s “Pie” – tasty yes, Pie? No! Blackberry and Apple Crumble? Yum, Pie? No!

And don’t get me started on the standards imposed by the Cornish Pasty Association

Oh, we won’t. We know that wars have been fought over the laws which govern Cornish Pasties.

ADDENDUM: when recording AMT200, Martin’s mum told us this interesting Pie Fact: that during the Second World War, fat was rationed so pie-lovers couldn’t make pastry. In its stead, they topped their pies with root vegetables, and in certain pies this habit stuck. Necessity is the mother of invention, as ever.

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holy camel

December 7, 2011

CLICK HERE FOR AMT199

After last week’s discussion of dogs in church, listener Jennifer sent us a picture of the annual blessing of the animals at the Cathedral of St John the Divine in NYC on the feast of St Francis of Assisi:

And St Francis looks down from upon high and thinks, “Hmm…this wasn’t entirely what I expected.”

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