Donald Trump's hair

I'm sorry we can't show you a picture of it here. He's very rich and no doubt has teams of people scouring the Internet for mention of his name to keep his lawyers busy so here's a picture of some noodles instead. Google it. Make sure the kids are asleep and the curtains are closed before you do. Oh, and turn off safe search. It's got to be seen to be believed.

something that really is Marvelous!

I went to the doctors today. I had an unsightly growth on my wrist and I was beginning to lose sensation in two fingers (not those two). Before setting out for my appointment I did what any responsible person with dependents would do and made my own diagnosis with the help of Google. A ganglion. A pocket of synovial fluid that has leaked from the joint as a result of trauma. The prognosis was for a ganglionectomy by aspiration or excision (if you didn't know me you'd swear I was a doctor using such big words). Aspiration involves draining the fluid with a large gauge needle, injecting cortisone into the now empty lump and then having the patient lay down for 30 minutes to recover. Excision means cutting the skin, removing the offending item without damaging any blood vessels or nerves and stitching the wound up. So off I go and present myself as John Merrick to the GP.

"I think it's a ganglion," I say, as he squeezes it from all angles. "According to Google."

"It is indeed," concurs the good doctor, before snapping on the latex gloves and, with a quick rub of a sterile swab, plunges what is best described as a sterile prison shank into my wrist and squeezing an aspic like fluid out of it. Elastoplast on (optional) and I'm restored to my lump free self.

So why am I telling you this? Because, dear reader, Google also listed the cost of having a ganglion removed in a private hospital. £900 - £1500. Isn't the NHS marvelous!

I mean, how hard is it?

There are some things in life that are unquestionably hard to do. Performing vascular surgery, managing the England football team, or being a friend of Dorothy in a South Yorkshire mining village are some examples. Then there are things at the other end of the difficult-o-meter that require minimal, if any, effort - getting drunk and breathing would be two examples, listening to what your customer actually said to you 3 seconds ago is another. Step into my time machine and let us re-traverse the temporal plane to a time hitherto spent and we will find my younger self sat at his desk trying to pay some bills using HSBC's online banking system. Only the chuffin' thing isn't there. It's not working because it's not there. The box to log in has disappeared like a Romulan vessel before the tightening sphincters of the crew of the USS Enterprise. So I picks up me phone (I often act like Popeye when I'm frustrated) and ring the number buried deep within the HSBC website. Naturally, being in Yorkshire and having an account holding branch in Manchester I'm greeted by a woman who can barely speak English.

Me: "Hello, I'm trying to log on to Internet Banking but the log in box isn't there"

Cusotmer Care: "I see. Well we've had no reports that it's not working."

Me: "Really?"

Customer Care: "Yes, there are no reports of any problems."

Me: "So what did I just report to you?"

Now please don't take this as condemnation of foreign call centers. Our web hosting company is based in Blighty and their staff announce themselves with a grandeur straight out of Dickens.

"Good afternoon, Hostway Sales. Charles De Vries the third, grandson of the late Admiral De Vries, great grandson of the Fifteenth Earl of Tossington, and generally thoroughbred Englishman. How may I help you?"

"Your website isn't working."

"I see. Well it seems fine at this end..."