Death by Bedsheet

Today's news that obesity could be linked to sleeping in a room with too much light may or may not be scientifically sustainable but it did make me think about some of the odder correlations that have been shown such as this one

How on earth did 5886 people manage to die by becoming entangled in their bedsheets?  In fact how do you die that way?  I'm sorry but I think I am just about to make a request that if I die that way it's not declared.  I want people to be happy at my funeral and celebrate my life but I don't want them so completely struck down with mirth that they can't even participate in the service.

I finished a rather smelly camembert last night before I went to bed.  I slept soundly (and had no nightmares) and woke up this morning with the bedsheets as pristine as when I went to bed.  So far as I am concerned this was a Good Thing because I am here to finish this post and I haven't become a bed sheet statistic and my fridge no longer has that terrible smell (which was there even though the camembert was in two sealed plastic containers).

The correlation came from one of 244,470 correlations on the site tylervigen.com (and one is free to copy anything on the site).

Midges in May

Yesterday afternoon the Minch was so quiet and placid

that last evening the dreaded midges arrived.

This morning there was an eerie stillness over the sea

and the midges were pleased and were still here.

Don't they know that it's still May?!

This is a Common Bistort.  It grows wild hereabouts but I love it so have a patch growing in the garden.  It spreads.  It will soon be a bigger patch.

It has absolutely nothing to do with midges.

Thankful Thursday: Lifeboat

When you live on an Island which is nearly three hours away from the mainland of Scotland by sea and it's a stormy winter night and the sea is running a colossal swell and the wind is howling storm force in opposition with huge waves, then, just occasionally, you wonder about what would happen if the sea got the better of the ship.

To be fair these days the ferry doesn't sail in the sorts of seas that it used to traverse.  People complained and in the usual way that everything is done these days, instead of saying 'well get the next ferry' they just stop the sailing when it gets that rough.

Anyway here in Stornoway covering The Minch we have the Lifeboat and the Coastguard Helicopter.

Well I am astonished.  I can't find it.  But I'm certain I've done one.  What?  A post on the Stornoway Lifeboat practising in the Bay below the house.  The funny thing is that several years ago I started a post in a similar vein.  I couldn't find it then either.  Well when the Stornoway Lifeboat was practising a few days ago I took some photos from the house.

When one lives in a country surrounded by sea and where there are thousands of ships and boats at sea at any one time one is profoundly aware of how many lives rely on the Lifeboat and Coastguard services.  This is a map, taken as I write, of the vessels carrying locator beacons in Scotland's waters in sight of a receiving station.  And there will be many more that aren't.

(Map from marine traffic.com)

So today, looking across that stretch of water that I have to cross to reach the mainland I am very, very grateful for the fact that we have people and resources devoted to our rescue in times of need.

'If''. The alternative (by Frances Garrood)

If you can fill your room with junk and clutter, 

And still contrive to find your (unmade) bed.
If you withstand your parents' angry mutter
And play your music extra loud, instead.
If you can hoard your dirty mugs and dishes
And grow green mould therein, and cease to mind,
Stand fast against your teachers' well-meant wishes,
And, stalwart, keep your place in class (behind).
If you can eat three plates of food at mealtimes
And still have room for cereal in between,
And leave your dirty garments where you dropped them,
So everyone can tell where you have been.
If you can leave the jobs you're meant to do, lad,
And make quite sure that they remain undone,
Yours is this room, and everything that's in it.
You've now become a teenager, my son!

Frances Garrood

Dedicated to T, B and J.( But particularly T.)

(With thanks to Tess at Magpie Tales for the picture, and apologies to Kipling)

Frances Garrood writes books.  In my humble opinion, and I am not alone in that view, very good and certainly very enjoyable books.  She also pens limerick after limerick and poem after poem on her blog (usually in response to Magpie Tales whatever they are).

This particular adaptation really appealed to me: possibly because Son 2 who is now one of the most meticulously fastidious of young men went through this phase with a vengeance.

I apologise for the repetition to those of you who have already read it on Frances's blog (with image).