Ikeaster

On the way to work I see that the Nuffield are advertising a 'Free Cosmetic Surgery Open Event.' Imagine the carnage! Still, if you've always fancied trying your hand at rhinoplasty, but have been put off by the thought of all those years of study, here's your chance.

Lorraine thought she had a fifty pence piece, but it turned out to be a Mauritian coin. She was going to try and put it in one of the vending machines in the canteen, but I warned her that an alarm would go off, and she would immediately be extradited to Mauritius. She didn't try it - whether because of my warning or for reasons of her own, I couldn't say.

I spent Easter in Ikea with Dave and his friend Helen. Well perhaps not the whole of Easter, but time does tend to warp in that place. After hours of staring at objects with bizarre names like 'Fartyg', you start to think you've gone insane.

I bought a small blue dog and a black Benno.

There was a barbecue at Matandamandas. Mat held Samuel in front of the barbecue. 'Piggies!', he shrieked, wanting his son to understand just where those sizzling sausages came from. 'Piggies!', echoed Sam. Hmm, wasn't that one of Charles Manson's catchphrases? Maybe that was how Manson got started - his Dad imprinting upon him the association between attractive things and things that must be killed and eaten. Mat didn't seem concerned by the idea that Sam might turn into a serial killer. He might not be so happy if he turns into a vegetarian, though.

Film round-up

Zombies just won't die. They've gone viral, it seems, appearing in rewritten Jane Austen novels and cluttering up HMV's horror section with titles like Zombeak. This belongs to the category of films which I can't even bother to pick up off the rack, to find out what it's about - never mind actually watching the thing. I imagine that it's about undead budgerigars.

By rights everyone should be bored with zombies by now, but obviously they have a way of transcending boredom, perhaps by becoming a kind of metaphor for it. Zombies And Their Metaphors... someone should write that book. Perhaps the key to the rise of the zombies is that you can pretty much do anything with them. Take Bruce Labruce's LA Zombie, in which gay porn star Francois Sagat plays an 'alien zombie' who walks out of the ocean and shuffles round LA reanimating corpses with his enormous undead penis that gushes black stuff. Yes, zombie porn is here. Although, in it's shorter version at least, there is a certain innocence about LA Zombie which reminds me of Charlie Chaplin films... or perhaps it's just me.

I saw this at a festival, where the producer, introducing the film, said he had three spare copies on DVD which he'd flog for a tenner afterwards if anybody was interested. It all sounded wonderfully seedy, but unfortunately I had to run for my train.

Mark Pirro's Rectuma (seen recently on DVD) is in a way the opposite of LA Zombie, with its redemptive cock. Interesting to imagine this film being pitched to Hollywood execs: 'Well, it's about this guy who gets raped by a Mexican frog and then a Japanese scientist puts a radioactive rod up his arse, and the arse then detaches itself from his body, grows to gigantic proportions, and lays waste to LA...' Get Tom Cruise on the line right now!

For arse read butt, because obviously this is an American film, and I'm not entirely certain that the humour really translates. However, it's interesting to wonder what Freud would have made of this. He might have felt that a giant penis would have worked better as a wild destructive force, so it is at least pleasingly counter-intuitive to find instead a death-dealing bottom. Counter-intuitive is the word: you spend most of this film in a state of vague surprise at the fact that it actually got funding. Actually - not that much funding.

A couple of Japanese singers provide a kind of - erm - Greek chorus. They are unceremoniously crushed at the end of the credits by the star of the proposed sequel, Scroton. It doesn't seem likely that this sequel will ever be made - on the other hand, it may be that radioactive ballbags are the new zombie. Watch this cultural space.

Squirrels

Another leaving do at work, but on this occasion it's voluntary, so no need to feel guilty while tucking into the sandwiches. The carrot cake is another matter. Have I been in the organisation long enough to be the first to cut into a pristine carrot cake, decorated with white chocolate curls and pretend carrots? Surely I would need to be Grade 7 or above to get away with that?

Luckily, someone else moves in, and I follow. It proves to be worth the wait.

Squirrels invaded the canteen at work once. There was a bit of a hoo-hah, I am told.

Neither squirrels nor overeating are featured, I notice, on the new comprehensive drop-down menu on the sickness absence form. Nevertheless, it's a veritable Smorgasbord of reasons not to come to work. 'Burns, poisoning, frostbite and hypothermia' - wonder how often that one gets used? And if you aren't suffering from anything official, there's also the very useful 'unknown causes'. 'I can't come in today - my unknown causes have flared up again.' Oh yes, I'm a martyr to my unknown causes.

We also now have 'substance abuse'. Does this mean that I can inject myself with heroin on a Monday morning and then ring and tell them I don't feel like going to work now? As long as it's on the drop-down menu, no problem.

Boner Services

Not only are we faced with 'relocation' at work, we have been caught in a pincer movement by the Department of Health, who are carrying out a cost-cutting exercise on the organisation as a whole. I have every confidence that the DoH will make a wise decision. I'm a bit concerned by that acronym though.

Well, if the worst comes to the worst, I can always form a group with my colleagues. It worked for The Soldiers and The Nurses. I'm not quite sure whether the Out-Of-Work Admin Assistants can command the same kind of popular following, but no doubt it's a question of choosing the right material. Money For Nothing, anyone?

Someone even suggested at a meeting the other day that NHS Blood and Transplant might incorporate sperm donation. I shudder to think what the new logo would look like. Two hearts and a cock? However, I think it is generally accepted that blood and sperm don't go together.

Except in certain films.

the presenters

On Quest, Al Murray was presenting a series of programmes about World War II. He seems a little bit lost without his Pub Landlord persona, as if wondering whether the joke is now on him; wearing a tin hat several sizes too big for him, he looks like he's hoping to be Ross Kemp when he grows up.

Later, along comes Brian Cox. Wonders Of The Universe. Oh dear. I remember the days when science programmes were fronted by men with beards and pipes, standing in front of blackboards, people you could trust. Now it's some goon who clearly took too much E when he was the keyboard player with D:Ream. I used to think he was soppy but now, watching him grinning inanely while discussing the death of the universe - and talking about how the whole of humanity might be crushed into a space the size of this rock he's holding - and saying that there is 'nothing' inside him... I understand that he is in fact psychotic.

They put him in a centrifuge so that he can experience the gravity of some remote planet - in fact, this is clearly the only way they could find to stop him smiling. It works for a while, but it isn't pleasant - it's sort of like seeing his face ripped off. When the grin bounces back again, it's almost a relief.