Okay hey So, as a career scientist, I am obliged to be filled with awe and wonder at the world about me. Enter the magnificent piece of brilliance that is New Scientist magazine - it's like hardcore, relevant science and acientific breakthroughs, but written by Goscinny and Uderzo. This week's edition, though, carries the following disconcerting piece of news: >>Keeping a diary is bad for your health, say UK psychologists. They found that regular diarists were more likely than non-diarists to suffer from headaches, sleeplessness, digestive problems and social awkwardness. Their finding challenges assumptions that people find it easier to get over a traumatic event if they write about it. “We expected diary keepers to have some benefit, or be the same, but they were the worst off,” says Elaine Duncan of the Glasgow Caledonian University. “In fact, you’re probably much better off if you don’t write anything at all,” she adds. So that explains my sore throat! And here I was thinking it was merely the comon cold. Full text available here: http://www.newscientist.com/news/news.jsp?id=ns99996374 and the whole journal is a cracking good read. And in case there are any Philistines out there wonder "wtf is Goscinny and Uderzo?" you should know that they are the authors and illustrators of the Asterix stories. In other news, managed to expose myself twice at Virgin Active, which as you know I will be leaving for ever at the end of October to take up tenure at one Planet Fitness in Plattekloof. You may recall I mentioned some weeks back that there was a small hole in the ass of my dodgy Speedo. Unfortunately, I didn't, and went swimming with it a few days ago. Imagine my surprise a few minutes post swim when I removed it and discovere that small hole had mutated into large hole the size of Texas. So when I went swimming the next day, I wore my summer uniform - a pair of boardshorts of the original retro kind; plain black and with popper buttons instead of a drawstring. So a few lengths into my mile, unofficially racing the oke in the lane next door (and creaming him, too, the slow slacker!! heh), I realise that the popper buttons (2 of them) have come undone. No problem, at the end of the set, pop 'em back together. Fixed up. A few lengths later, same story. Again, no proble, same solution, fixed up. The third time, however, I didn't notice that the little suckers had popped open again. So we are a goodly few lengths into our adjacent-lane rivalry - and of course, in my head I can hear the commentators marvelling at my magnificent stroke - and as usual I pull to just a few feet ahead of him and then as we reach the far wall, just notch it up a gear and completely blow him out of the water. Yeah, it's a guy thing. It's like when you're walking down a corridor and someone is approaching you and whoever shifts out of the other one's path is the unofficial loser. You can only win at that if you are with someone you are trying to impress and you yield which makes you look like you don't care about such piffling details and the person you're with thinks "wow - that's really big of him. I'd like to jump his bones" or something. I digress, though.... Nevertheless, I'm 10 feet ahead of Lane 2 Loser when the buttons unpop for the third time. I realise it with about 2 strokes to go before hitting the wall for my flipturn, but with not enough clear water behind me to stop and fix and still win; anyway, I tell myself, the velcro will hold it; and what have I got that everyone on the planet hasn't already seen, anyway? (a story in itself, I tell you). So as usual, I tuck for the turn, roll, flip, push foot to wall, kick like nobody's business and cannon off into the home stretch at quite a clip, shooting past 2nd Lane boy as he approached the wall. Simultaneously I notice two things: 1.) 2nd Lane boy's eyes are bigger than his face; alarmed, clearly, he has swallowed some water and is spluttering. 2.) As I cruise past him - not worried about him drowning, since the pool is only 4 feet deep - and turn for my breath, I recognise a boardshorts-shaped item floating gently, descending 4 feet to the bottom of the pool. Immediately two things become clear: 1.) The black, familiar-looking boardies-shaped things, are in fact, as you have probably guessed, the black boardies I was wearing when I entered the pool. And I don't wear anything under them when I swim. 2.) 2nd Lane loser-boy was not alarmed at all. He was, in fact, laughing at my misfortune. So he deserves to be spluttering and swallowing water and practically drowning. Fortunately, nobody else was in the pool, so there were no complaints. Lane 2 Loser was still chuckling away as he swam to the bottom of the pool and retrieved my offending trousers and gave them back to me while I waited, buck-naked, trying to act casual. I put them back on with no fanfare before I lost it and began to laugh as well. We had a great time. Of course I was obliged thereafter to thump him repeatedly with my lap-times over the course of the next half-hour as we swam, so I did kinda win in the end. On points, though, I guess you'd have to call it a draw. -D-